


The Placebo Effect

by SnowAndRayne



Series: Pain Killers [3]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Addiction, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Cyberpunk City, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dom/sub Undertones, Escapism, Getting high, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Abuse, M/M, Minor Character Death, Morally Ambiguous Characters, Oral Sex, Past Domestic Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recreational Alien Drug Use, Sexual Trauma, Somnophilia Kink, Substance Abuse, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unloved Morty :(
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2020-08-23 13:41:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 58,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20243773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowAndRayne/pseuds/SnowAndRayne
Summary: This burn may be slow, but now it's burning at both ends...


________________________________________________________________We begin about three months after we left off with Contraindications. Rick and Morty are currently scouring the universe searching for Morty's kidnapped family. 

Rick has been unable to touch Morty since their last night together due to his festering guilt. Morty still remains unaware of what transpired in his dreams...





	1. Abel Looked Up At Cain

**Author's Note:**

> _Okay, okay, so I got impatient and couldn't wait until September..._  

> 
> **A/N:** This installment takes place a few months after the events in _Contraindications_. I recommend reading _Contraindications_ and it's predecessor: _Pain Killer (I Can Handle It)_, before reading _The Placebo Effect_ as the story flows a lot better when you have each installment in the series.

> placebo  
/pləˈsiːboʊ/ plə-SEE-boh/
> 
> noun  
A beneficial effect produced by a placebo drug or treatment, which cannot be attributed to the properties of the placebo itself, and must therefore be due to the patient's **belief** in that treatment.

Acid rain when Abel looked up at Cain  
We began the weeping and wailing  
A hurried high from pesitlence pills and pride  
It's a shame  
We could have gone sailing

— The Killers, "Tranquilize"

* * *

Morty slides across the room on his knees, collecting a still-loaded gun from the stuff arms of a deceased Gromflamite soldier. He spins and blasts the weapon at the soldiers descending on him. They're dead in seconds but the sound of running feet signal more approaching down the hall. The first Gromflamite rounds the corner...

Morty aims.

The gun clicks.

"Shit."

Morty chucks the now-useless object aside and readies himself, lowering his center of gravity and getting ready to run as the soldier's comrades hurry into the room. Morty quickly counts them.

Six.

Good.

That gives him three minutes per opponent.

As the first Gromflamite rushes him, Morty begins running—not away from the soldier but _towards _him—the creature slows, faltering in surprise, and Morty seizes the opportunity to throw himself upwards, swinging on a damaged I-beam and aiming his steel-tipped boot into the creature's face.

There's a satisfying crunch as steel meets flesh and Morty lands gracefully on top of the now-dead creature—its nose now lodged somewhere in its parietal lobes. Morty then stomps on the butt of the soldier's gun, it flies up and Morty catches it in his arms. All guns are aimed at him now but Morty's too quick. He lifts the dead soldier by the scruff of its neck, using its exoskeleton and body armour to shield himself from the shower of bullets.

He pulls the trigger of his own gun, aiming for a soldier's face, and—to Morty's carefully masked surprise—the soldier bursts into a Jackson Pollock on the wall behind him. Morty glances down at the large item balanced awkwardly in the crook of his elbow and realizes that he's holding an automatic weapon. It is unruly and a little too heavy to aim one-handed. Morty moves away from the crowded doorway, deciding to spare the bullets until he can get into a better position. He backs up, still holding the soldier's body, paying special attention to any movement in his peripheral.

One of the soldiers makes the mistake of rushing him and Morty shoots him to pieces.

A second tries to edge around Morty's exposed left side, but Morty notices and spins—blasting him to pudding. An undeterred third tries a similar tactic on Morty's right and immediately meets the same messy fate.

Blood and viscera shower the walls and floor. At the rate the soldiers are sacrificing themselves, Morty will be out of bullets in a matter of minutes. He glares around the room, hastily trying to find something else to use as a weapon. There's plenty of fallen debris, rocks, and a nice 'n nasty laser-blade dangling from the belt of a fallen Gromflamite...

_Jeez, where's Rick when I need him? _Morty thinks anxiously as he backs away from the descending soldiers. The mysterious contents of his grandfather's lab coat are feeling pretty appealing right about now.

And just like that, Morty's suddenly out of bullets and out of options.

He ducks swiftly to grab the laser-blade—praying the thing still has enough charge left to be usable—and drives it up into the creature's jugular. Blood spills on the floor and Morty rips the gun from the fallen soldier's arms.

Morty turns, ready to sprint into the next room and eventually find Rick at the rendezvous point but is suddenly reeling backwards from an unexpected punch to the face.

Morty blinks stupidly. The gun is wrestled from his arms as the sparks crowding his vision begin to fade. As Morty shakes away the onset of dizziness he finds himself face-to-face with a dark-haired, doe-eyed human girl, only a little shorter than himself.

Once the gun is pointed at him, Morty grabs the barrel in both hands, slamming the butt of the weapon into the girl's face. She recoils in shock, her grip on the weapon slipping and Morty easily repositions the butt of the gun back against his own shoulder.

Morty aims.

He hesitates.

Despite Rick's strong influence, he's always a little squeamish about killing members of his own species. But his hesitation is short-lived as his vision clears and he recognizes the familiar bob-haircut and pouty lips.

"T-Tammy?" Morty stammers in disbelief.

Tammy's eyes narrow for a split second and then widen with sudden recognition. Her lip quivers dramatically.

"Morty!" she gasps. "I'm so glad you're here, Morty. The Federation...they're...they're _monsters_, Morty! And they're out of control! They made me work for them, Morty. They took my family. Please...wh-where's Summer? Is the here? I need to—"

As Tammy steps forward, her arms open as if to embrace him, Morty lifts the gun with more determination, jaw clenched, finger on the trigger and ready...

"You." Morty whispers. "Don't get to say my sister's name."

"Morty! I'm sorry!" Tammy sobs.

"Y-you know what you did to my sister, Tammy?" Morty asks coolly. "You know _why_ she wanted to be popular so bad? Because she was lonely and desperate. I guess eh-everyone in my family is. But you already knew that did—didn't you, Tammy? That's how she ended up with a friend like you. She offered you genuine friendship and you _used_ her, Tammy. You took advantage of her insecurities and used them for your own agenda." Morty's tone lightens a little. "Oh don't worry though, she's learned her lesson, s-so did all of us for that matter. We're fine now..." Morty smiles coldly and aims the gun between Tammy's eyes, "... _juuust_ fine..."

Even Morty's surprised by just how bloodthirsty he sounds at this moment and Tammy's eyes widen in a horrified _this-can't-be-happening_ expression. But Morty does not relent. He won't. Tammy put Morty's entire family in danger. 

And Tammy _must_ understand how dangerous that is.

_"Please,_ Morty!" Tammy begs.

"C-cut the charade, Tammy," Morty replies, bored. "I'm not gonna fall for it. You messed with my sister's self-esteem, you killed my Grandpa's best friend."

"No I didn't!"

Morty snorts with disbelief. "I was _there,_ Tammy. W-w-we all saw you!"

Tammy's crocodile tears cease immediately. Her mouth curls into a cruel smirk as she repeats those three words.

"No. I. Didn't."

A deafening shriek rattles the walls around them. The very air itself seems to be filled with the dreadful ear-splitting noise and it takes every ounce of Morty's willpower not to drop the heavy weapon and press his hands to his ears. Tammy is still smirking, unrattled, as the window above them shatters.

Morty abandons any attention he gave to Tammy and instead watches in horror as a great winged demon swoops and lands gracefully on Morty's other side, flanking him. 

In that moment it takes all Morty's willpower to swallow back the desperate, mortifying, need to scream. For despite the menacing red eye, black metal wings, and the inhuman sound that just emitted from the creature's mouth, the creature is unmistakeable.

"B-_Birdperson?"_ Morty's mouth is agape.

"I am Phoenix Person," the creature replies in a familiar monotone.

"Careful, Morty," Tammy says mildly. Morty tears his attention back to her to see her cally brushing broken glass from her shoulder. "He's a very loyal bird. You may not want to threaten his _wife._"

Sickened, Morty readies his gun to shoot her and hears Phoenix Person shift behind him, ready to spring and kill him as soon as Morty's finger lands on the trigger.

Morty shrugs.

"Y-you really think I care whether I live or die?" Morty hisses.

"Well if you _don't_," Tammy smiles sweetly, "then pull the trigger."

The pad of Morty's forefinger rests gently on the trigger. He'd quite happily blow Tammy to pieces right now even if it was with the cost of his own life. 

She took Birdperson and corrupted him. She took Summer and betrayed her. She took Rick—right when he was finally ready to open himself to others—and smeared the ugliness of the universe all over his emotional breakthrough. Shattering his glass heart and leaving him even more bitter and broken than before.

Tammy may or may not deserve death, but the universe did not deserve and affliction like Tammy.

But,Morty thinks carefully, will Rick keep searching for his family without him?

They've been searching for months and have only _just_ found a lead, only to find themselves stuck here and fighting for their lives. The Federation seemed to be only half-heartedly after them them until tonight, declaring them Wanted Men, but not actively hunting them. There'd been a bounty on both their heads—Rick's higher than Morty's of course—which suggested the government were quite happy to sit back and leave the messier job of actually bringing them in to the lower class bounty hunters of the galaxy. But now Rick and Morty had taken the fight to them in the quest for information and they both knew the Federation would not stand for such audacity.

Would Rick keep going without Morty? Or would he abandon the quest in favour of another dimension? He said the Intergalactic Governments throughout the multiverse were communicating with one another, that implied he wasn't the only Rick whom they were coming after. Did that mean all Smith Families had been kidnapped?

Morty frowns.

There must be universes out there without any Intergalactic Governments...

But in the moment while Morty remains frozen in thought, the familiar green swirls of a portal opens in the ceiling and Rick drops elegantly between Morty and Tammy.

"Rick,_ NO! _ It's—" Morty shouts. But either he's too late or Rick assumes Morty's still too soft to kill a human. His pistol is aimed and fired between Tammy's eyes before anyone in the room can react.

With a roar, Phoenix Person has sprung at them both and Rick throws himself on top of Morty, pinning him to the ground as sharp metal talons narrowly miss them both.

"Holy shit, _Birdperson?!_" Rick gasps.

"I was trying to tell you—" Morty starts but Rick interrupts.

"Yeah, yeah, s'all good Morty I got this." Rick says dismissively. He rises to his feet as Phoenix Person banks and comes back around to swoop at them once again.

"Birdperson, I know you're in there!" Rick shouts. "And more importantly, I know you're as pissed off as I am!"

Phoenix Person lands, he places one foot back into a fighter's stance and two laser-tipped swords are suddenly erected from his forearms. "I am _Phoenix Person,_" he repeats plainly.

"Ooh and it—it looks like... look's like you've got a couple of shiny new blades there. Nice cybernetic enhancements, man," Rick shrugs. "T-too bad the whole reborn cyborg-thing is kinda played out since the Bladerunner remake."

Phoenix Person springs and Rick dodges easily.

"W-well, actually, i-i-it was played out back when they made those Robocop sequels but, hey, I'm just being—_ woah!" _

Rick tucks and rolls, narrowly avoiding one of the blades.

"But y'know why I'm really pissed off?" Rick asks as the creature flings himself at him again.

When that attack fails, one of Phoenix Person's arms contorts and morphs into a plasma rifle which he fires repeatedly at Rick. Rick does a one-armed cartwheel out of the way before flinging a handful of spherical grenades, which Birdperson easily dips beneath. The spheres bang and fizzle out into a cascade of white lights.

"It's not because they made you into the _lamest_ post-credits movie trope of all time, or... or because they made you into a flappy, gay-ass..." Rick dodges another shot from the plasma rifle, "...cliche."

Rick points his wrist at Phoenix Person and a net made of lights and lasers flies out. It catches around Phoenix Person's wings and he falls to the ground in an undignified heap, metal wings scraping angrily against one another with the sound of unsheathed swords.

"And y'know what? I-It's not even because they gave you th-th-the world's _stupidest_ name!" Rick approaches the crumpled, struggling figure writhing on the ground. He looks down at his friend, his head still held high, and places his hands on his hips. Morty is reminded of a particularly unimpressed headmaster.

"It's because," Rick says icily, "they were—_heh_ —they were _actually arrogant_ enough to think this was clever. They s-s-_seriously_ thought this was original." Rick snorts. "They honest-to-g _OHd_ didn't think I'd have come up with some kind of contingency plan for this _exact_ scenario."

Rick sighs with haughty disgust before straightening up, his voice loud and commanding:

  
  
"_I will definitely be using this corporate-sponsored hashtag!_"

Morty watches as Phoenix Person's blank expression somehow turns even blanker and he immediately stops struggling against the laser netting. He then says in a voice completely different to his own: "Sanchez, Rick. Administrator."

"Speaking."

"Confirmation Needed: Execute Operative 2667-B. Bypass all overrides."

Rick burps into his fist. "Y-_ehh-_yep."

"Confirmed. Processing Request."

Phoenix Person twitches slightly on the ground as Rick and Morty watch on, Rick with mild interest and Morty with awe, his inhuman red eye dulls and is then replaced by one of bright blue, he blinks in confusion, as though waking up from a very deep sleep.

"Rick. Morty."

"H-hey," Morty smiles, giving Phoenix Person a timid wave.

Rick doesn't say a thing but the net wrapped around Phoenix Person's talons immediately begins to fade. Phoenix Person rises and his eyes meet Rick's. The pair nod to one another amicably. Though Morty can't see his grandfather's face and Birdperson does not outwardly smile, the two stoic warriors are no doubt relieved to be reunited once again.

Morty beams.

But the small victory is short-lived when Morty suddenly experiences a sharp jab squarely in the center of his spine. His knees buckle and he suddenly finds himself in a headlock, a gun pressed firmly at his temple.

Morty cries out in a mixture of both surprise and pain and his grandfather whirls around, his pistol is drawn and aimed.

"_T__ammy..._" Rick snarls in warning.

"Rick Sanchez." Tammy says with a prideful sneer. "Didn't expect a bulletproof epidermal laser mesh did you?" (Rick rolls his eyes dramatically.) "I want your weapons down—_all_ of them—and your hands up."

"Yeah, th-that's—_ehhhrrp_—not gonna happen."

"You are in no position to negotiate, Sanchez."

"_N-Negotiate?_ Wow." Rick snorts. "Y-you think I care if you kill one of my infinite grandkids? Y-You realize I have way more trouble replacing a pair of shoes, right? A-a-and that's not hyperbolic by the way! I swear _nowhere _has a men's seven and a half.."

Tammy's eyes narrow. "If you shoot me, Phoenix Pers—"

"—Birdperson."

"Phoenix Person."

"_—Birdperson._"

"Fine!" Tammy snaps. "_Birdperson_ will fucking kill you!"

"Uhh...clearly you've been watching a different show, Tammy, be-because I believe I just overrode your cheap-ass post credits literary device with my own Deus Ex Machina just minutes ago." Rick laughs. "Pun_—__errp!—_t_OH_tally intended by the way!"

"You forgot an important detail," Tammy says calmly. "Birdperson and I are soul-bonded. I know for a _fact_ you know how serious that is, _Rick_." Rick's face is blank but Morty spots a tell-tale twitch in the corner of his grandfather's mouth. "You may have overridden his cybernetic enhancements, but he is still _mine._"

"Y-you can't be seri—"

"Why else would I wait until the reception?" Tammy giggles. "The venue was surrounded before the ceremony began."

Rick pales.

"Science isn't limited to equations and technology, Rick." Tammy simpers. "Sometimes _nature_ wins."

There's a heavy pause while the two stand and glare at each other.

"Meh. It still doesn't change things." Rick finally shrugs. "Birdperson is my best friend. Great bird. Even better man. Reh-_egghhh-_eckon I can think of crappier people who deserve to take me down." He gives Tammy a significant look with that barbed statement and Morty feels her bristle.

The pair continue to snap at one another while Morty keeps himself calm. He knows what to do: twist so that his shoulder is rammed into Tammy's chest, then hook his foot around her calf so that as he straightens up Tammy stumbles backwards. After that, Morty can easily grab the gun off her. He just needs Tammy to be sufficiently distracted by the conversation so that both maneuvres merge into one fluid movement, taking her by surprise.

Morty just hopes she doesn't decide to point the gun at Rick...

"C'mon, Sanchez," Tammy scoffs. "_Anyone_ can see you've changed. You've become enslaved to tradition. You _love_ Morty and Summer!"

"Wrong again." Rick laughs. "I actually _abandoned_ my original family in an alternate dimension I destroyed. Haven't seen those idiots in years and I don't exactly plan on touching base."

"Wait." Tammy starts. "Summer's not—?"

Twist.

Shoulder.

Hook.

...And Tammy is down.

Morty goose-necks her wrist and she drops her gun with a loud hiss between her teeth. Morty manages to catch it one-handed, despite how heavy it is. He spins it around and points it at her.

"I _told_ you," Morty growls, "not to say my sister's name."

"Heh. Looks like you've taught the kid a few tricks," Tammy gaze flicks to Rick and she raises an eyebrow knowingly. "I fucking called it."

"No," if Morty were more naive, he would swear Rick sounds almost proud, "I didn't teach him that."

"YouTube, bitch." Morty flips the gun around in both hands and hits Tammy in the face with the butt. Tammy cries out in shock as blood spills from her already-bruised nose and her split top lip. Morty watches her coldly as she lies sprawled on the floor, her hands pressed tightly against her ruined face. Morty abandons the gun and stoops down to firmly grasp the collar of Tammy's shirt. "That's _permanent,_ by the way," he hisses. "The thing about laser-mesh, it's a bit of a double-edged sword. If it caves in, it'll damage the very thing it protects. You're not gonna seduce anyone ever again, _Tammy._"

Tammy's face splits into an ugly grin.

"You'e a fucking faggot, Morty Smith."

The colour swiftly drains from Morty's face.

Triumphant, Tammy continues: "You're a groomed pet. Are you really so stupid, Morty? You think your parents _want _to be saved by something like you?" She spits a wad of blood in Morty's face and coughs out a soggy laugh when he flinches. "You're disgusting."

Without skipping a beat, Morty is shoved aside as Rick swoops down to firmly grasp Tammy's head with both powerful hands. Morty watches from his prone position, his blood chilling as Rick's face morphs from contemptuous into wrathful. His body trembles with barely-contained rage, his eyes are wild—_inhuman_—as he bares his teeth in a ferocious scowl. 

Rick stares into the girl's wide frightened eyes before both hands clench into fists. With a cut-off scream, Tammy's skull is suddenly crushed like a fragile robin egg between Rick's powerful metal hands. He then lets go. Hastily shoving Tammy away from him as though touching something diseased. Tammy's pale dead body flops pathetically onto the hard floor. Her mangled face now fixed permanently into an expression of both shock and outrage.

There are pieces of brain on Rick's fingers and even though the sight makes him sick, Morty can't take his eyes off them. But before the real horror of what Rick has done can properly sink in, Morty hears the sound of sharp silvery wings as they unfurl.

Rick turns slowly. It's like watching him in slow-motion. 

Morty doesn't hesitate.

He scrambles up from his sprawled out position and throws himself between his grandfather and the man that once saved his life. He stands up straight, his shoulders back and his chin held high. It'll hurt, he's sure of it—Morty closes his eyes so Rick doesn't have to see the fear behind them—but he's ready to go. Rick was right: Birdperson was a great bird, an even better man, and Morty can think of significantly worse people to take his life.

He promises himself he won't scream, that he'll take his death like a man, but he can't help emitting a pained cry as sharp metal talons suddenly tear into his back.

_This is it..._

Morty takes a deep breath.

_No more thoughts..._

_BANG!_

Something hits the ground with a multitude of _clangs _that echo violently around the empty room and Morty spins, shocked, to find Birdperson lying spread-eagle upon the ground. His once-red, then-blue, now _empty_ cybernetic eye stares sadly up at the ceiling.

Morty doesn't think he's seen anything so eerily _still_ in all his life.

"B-Birdperson?" Morty whispers in shock. He edges closer and kneels down at the warrior's side. "_Rick?!_"

"C'mon, Morty." Rick's face is unreadable. 

Morty barely has time to think before Rick fires his portal gun. He grabs Morty's arm with a callous grip and rips him away from Birdperson's side, steering them both from the scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...


	2. The Outside World Is Our Enemy

"The outside world is our enemy, Morty."

—Rick and Morty, _Pilot_

* * *

Morty stumbles into what he can only describe as the sleaziest, seediest alien hotel room he has ever seen. It is the complete opposite to the suite. The room is illuminated by the eerie everchanging neon glow from a sign outside. It changes colour every few seconds, bathing the room in artificial light. But even in the gloom, Morty can still see the frayed carpet and walls stained with what he hopes is liquor.

Rick's panting. One hand still tightly gripping Morty's bicep, the other hand rested firmly against the small of his back. He steers Morty to the bed and nudges him into a sitting position.

At any other time, Morty would be worrying about the cleanliness of this bed's sheets but right now all he can think about—all he can _see_ when he closes his eyes—is that stillness, the sound of sharp metal feathers clinking against against one another and then falling suddenly silent, that awful vacant _stare..._

Rick killed Tammy.

Oh god.

Rick killed _Birdperson._

"You a-alright?" Rick asks tersely.

Rick made a choice. He chose _Morty_ over Birdperson.

Morty can taste bile on his tongue. "Y-Yeah, I guess," he replies thickly. "But... R-Rick, _Birdper_—"

"—Don't think about it."

Morty falls silent, uncertain from Rick's clipped tone whether that statement had been thrown at Morty or at himself. He sits perched on the edge of the bed, wishing the horrible thoughts would stop plaguing him, wishing Rick could somehow help even though Rick is the reason the scene keeps replaying itself over and over in his head like a particularly grueling pop song...

Desperate, Morty looks up into the shadows where he knows Rick's eyes are and wonders how much of his own face Rick can see in the dark.

"I'm going to get s-something to patch you up," Rick says simply. "Stay here, Morty. Don't turn on the light."

"Don't turn on the—?" Morty repeats and then frowns. "R-Rick, where are we?"

"Seedy motel, Morty. Jeez, keep up."

"Rick."

"Okay, okay," Rick sighs. "Th-the Galactic Federation are after us in full force now so... s-so I didn't— I didn't have a lot of options, Morty." Rick turns away and runs a hand through his hair before fisting it in anger. "We're on Planet Floopynaps, located south-east of the Adromeda System and west of Cepheus. Dimension... um..." Rick covers his eyes and absently waves a hand in the air. "Dimension..._uhh..._E-42A." Rick turns back to look at Morty. "I_ think. _The city's called Grippernips. It's—_uhh_—n-not the nicest place, Morty, and—and let's just say Grandpa's made a few... hundred... enemies round here. L-let's just leave it at that, kay sport?"

"Holy shit Rick! Th-th-then why'd you bring us here?" Morty's voice shoots up an octave. "Wh-what are we—"

"Ugh!" Rick let's out an exasperated sigh and runs a hand through his hair once again. "_Relax_, Morty, th-the Federation is going to be looking for us everywhere comfortable: your Mom's place, your Dad's apartment, the penthouse, my timeshare on Hoth, your school... a-and once they've exhausted all the obvious places to look, they're gonna start getting creative and I can't take us outside of Federation Space because th-they're really pissed this time, Morty. _Really_ pissed. I mean—I-I thought they were mad before but this time... _sheezus! _Anyway... they've now p-pr-proo_OHH_ven they...they're—_ehhhrrrp_—willing to break intergalactic law—their _own_ intergalactic law—in order to f-find me. A lot of people in this place want to kill me, Morty. A _lot_ of people. Like, imagine that last scene in the second John Wick movie and then _triple it. _So if we're here, Morty, the Federation is pretty much gonna have to get in line behind everyone else who has already called dibs on your grandpa's head. Y-you with me?"

"Aw jeez, Rick..." Morty murmurs. "That's...that's pretty insane."

"Look, Morty, we'll be _fine. _I promse. Buh—but I gotta get you patched up, kay?"

"Yeah, alright."

Rick nods at him solemnly and then departs through a portal. He returns moments later with a familiar silver suitcase and a newer-looking green case.

"Take off your shirt," Rick orders. "It's dark so...th-this is gonna take some guesswork."

* * *

Haphazardly sewn back together—each suture stinging more than the last—and with a bottle of alien jack clasped in his hand, Morty sits silently and watches the dark figure of his grandfather as he lounges in the motel room's only seating: a tattered recliner. His iconic lab coat has been tossed in an irreverent pile on the dirty floor alongside his shirt and shoes. The occasional strong-smelling smoke that seeps from his nostrils indicates Rick's still soaring higher and higher.

His face is shrouded in shadow. All Morty can see are long grey limbs slung over the arms of the broken recliner in a desperate attempt at ease. 

Morty's attention his drawn to the hand dangled at the side of the recliner as it unclenches and clenches again into a white fist. There's a furious tension about him—like the ominous pull of a hunter's bow before it is loosed.

This is bad. Morty can tell.

He isn't sure what the damage will be like this time.

Rick did not speak at all when he stitched Morty's wounds less than an hour earlier. Despite the growing tension and the ominous hush, Morty tried to coax Rick into conversation and when he received only non-committal, vaguely irritated grunts in response, he quickly shut his trap and allowed himself to be arbitrarily put back together.

It hurt. Naturally. Without anaesthetic and fumbling about in the dark—and Rick already half drunk judging by the smell—pain was inevitable, worsened with the darkness heightening Morty's senses and the alcohol Rick poured over his bare skin to disinfect the wound. Worsened even still with the tension tightly held in Morty's muscles.

But protesting was not an option with Rick in such a foul mood.

This is how Rick touches Morty now.

Morty crossed a line when he pulled a gun on Rick and insisted they track down his family. That fact was immediately clear but became brutally cemented in the months that followed when any touch Morty initiated was yanked away from him. Rick refused any physical contact that wasn't either medical or obviously necessary.

It sucks.

Naturally.

Rick abruptly jerked the needle upwards, tugging the last of Morty's ruined flesh together, and got ready to cut it. Morty successfully stifled a moan of pain but couldn't help a grimace as Rick snipped the thread.

He thanked God for the darkness.

A hand landed on Morty's shoulder—surprisingly soft—and spidery fingers curled over his shoulder and squeezed wordlessly. The first kind touch in months. It was an unspoken gesture Morty recognized but did not like.

_I'll be back._

Morty placed a hand over Rick's in acknowledgement.

_Be careful._

There was no logic in asking Rick to stay. Rick needed space and if Morty pushed for closeness, Rick would need _more _space. His hand left Morty's shoulder in haste—a movement that caused Morty's chest to _ache_—and, without a word, the dingy motel room was illuminated in shades of swirling green, blocked only by the strange dark figure in its glowing centre. Rick disappeared through the portal, plunging Morty into darkness once more.

A haughty feminine voice shouts at someone at least three rooms down. Police sirens wail shrilly in the distance. Glass breaks. A dog barks. Another howls in answer. There is the unmistakable sound of someone drunkenly stumbling among the bins in a back alley somewhere. Morty wonders if anyone in this city ever sleeps...

Morty closes his eyes, sighing a silent prayer for silence or at least something to ease tension stinging in his wounds. Morty breathes deep, inhaling the strong-scented vapors as they waft all around them. He wants—needs—something to nullify the relentless cruel thoughts that swirl like the green substance in Rick's portal gun. Morty feels fear digging its claws into his thudding heart, seeping into his lungs like bitter poison.

_...I want to go home._

Rick had returned mere minutes later with arms full of liquor but Morty's attention was drawn to a large clear object similar to a vase. It was rounded near the base, and had a thin twisted stem poking out of the top. The object wasn't much larger than Rick's hand and seemed to be made of an alien substitute for glass that shone pearlescent shades of pink and blue even in the dark. Though it is obviously alien, it is still unmistakably a small bong.

Morty didn't ask where Rick went or why it was only under five minutes to grab so much stuff. He suspects thievery but accusing Rick of something so trivial after watching him murder two people seemed trivial at best. He refrained from asking what the dark tar-like stuff is which is sitting in the bottom of the bong and staining the beautiful multicoloured glass with black. And he doesn't want to know why Rick looks somehow even more tense as he lights the bottom of it, sending sinister bubbles crowding to the surface.

Morty doesn't want to know.

He doesn't want to think.

He just wants to forget.

Morty takes a swig from his liquor bottle and as the liquid burns down his throat and warms his chest, he continues to watch Rick with an unpleasant mix of awe and concern. Rick's legs are spread wide apart and slack and Morty's breath catches as something pleasurable stirs deep inside him. Rick throws his head back and a billow of sparkling smoke wafts from his face and rises to form a wispy swirling cloud on the ceiling. Morty watches, awed. The sweet, strong scent fills the room like unholy incense and glows with the everchanging neon sign that buzzes just outside the window. Morty can feel his soul lifting with every cloud that swirls above their heads, his skin flushed and over-sensitive with alcohol.

"Rick?" Morty finally breaks the silence.

Rick doesn't move. With no verbal acknowledgement and his face hidden in shadow, Morty isn't sure if Rick heard him. His mind no doubt lost somewhere amidst the clouds on the ceiling.

But then Rick coughs, puffs of glittering smoke leaving the shadow of his face as he says gruffly, "wh-what d’you want, Morty?"

Morty swallows nervously.

"C-can I join you?"

"What?"

"I... I want to get high with you," Morty elaborates.

Silence stretches between them once more and Rick appears to be considering the request. Embarrassment begins to churn in Morty's stomach but Morty quickly shoves the feeling aside. Rick's so drunk and high right now. When you're the only one who cares, humiliation is a choice.

"I mean," Morty explains with a dry laugh, "I-I'm kinda getting second-hand-high over here anyway Rick."

Rick coughs out another puff of smoke. "Good point."

Rick staggers out of the armchair and stands to his full height before approaching the bed. And Morty—despite asking for this—shrinks back. The poor lighting has made Rick look monstrously tall, almost fey-like. His hair sticks up at odd rigid angles, like the horns of a great eyeless demon.

Morty gulps back a whimper.

This is the monster that killed Tammy, that almost killed Jerry, that killed Birdperson.

He shudders and hopes Rick doesn't notice. Rick holds the alien bong out in front of him like a peace offering.

"You ever been high before, Morty?"

Morty doesn't answer and Rick lets out an exasperated sigh that manifests in another wisp of smoke.

"First—f-first rule, _Morty. _Be honest. I need to know if you're a virgin because if you say nothing, I'll treat you like you're not."

"Kay, fine." Morty rolls his eyes. "I'm a virgin."

Rick snorts and Morty bristles.

"_What?_" Morty glares. "Y-you fucking asked, Rick!"

"Y-Y-I fucking _know _you're a virgin, Morty, but I just w-_heh-_wanted to hear you fuckin' say it." Rick inhales from the bong again and smoke puffs out of him with each gasp of laughter.

"You're a real jerk, y-y'know that?"

"Duh."

"Rick...?"

"What?" The syllable comes out like a bark as Rick sits down on the mattress beside Morty.

"Um...I..."

"Morty, do you wanna get high or not?" Rick asks tersely.

"How do I do this?" Morty asks quietly. "I've... this is my first..."

Rick snorts with laughter once more. He sounds almost manic and Morty wonders for a moment if this is really a good idea.

"Yeah... yeah, of course." Rick snickers.

Morty glares up at him. "What do you mean _'of course'?_"

But Rick's gone quiet. He seems to be thinking. Then Morty gives an all-body shiver in as Rick slowly runs a hand down Morty's arm.

"Rick?"

"You don't get high, Morty," Rick whispers, "_I_ do."

"Hm?"

"C'mere."

The hand rested on Morty's forearm firms and Rick pulls him close, smoothing back Morty's hair and leaning in so their faces are an inch apart. Morty is hushed with surprise as his grandfather's breath tickles his face and warms his skin.

_He's so close. He's so fucking close!_

"Kay, Mor_ORP_ty..." he whispers and Morty shrinks back ever-so-slightly at the sudden seriousness in Rick's tone. Rick takes Morty's hand in his and guides it to his chest. 

Suddenly, Morty can't breathe.

Untouched since earth, Morty stills as his heart leaps into his throat.

Until this moment, Rick had acted as though Morty were diseased: avoiding touching him at all costs. Occasionally Morty thought he saw the odd fond smile or a concerned glance when it looked like Morty was hurt. But those looks quickly evaporated when Morty turned his head and Morty dismissed the flip in his stomach as wishful thinking.

And then there was that one time when they ran out of clean clothes and ended up at a department store. When Morty was walking towards a mirror in the new jeans he was considering, he caught a glimpse of his grandfather staring at his ass and licking his lips. A thrill of excitement shot through him, only for it to disappear a moment later when Rick swiftly turned away_—_

_Just go for it! _Morty had silently begged. _I know you want me…_

—and, of course, Morty had eagerly purchased the jeans.

"Feel me breathe, Morty?" Rick rasps, his voice swallowed by the shadows.

_...I don't care if you don’t love me..._

Morty nods.

..._why won't you..._

"When I inhale, you exhale," Rick says, dragging Morty back to the present, "And—a-and vice-versa—got it?"

_...just..._

"Okay, Rick," Morty replies in a choked whisper.

_...use me?_

There's something about the shadows, Morty decides, that seems to highlight the seriousness of their fugitive lives. They sit in the stillness, in the dark, and even though Rick has assured him they cannot be heard, they speak in hushed reverent voices.

They practice a few times. Rick breathing in slowly as Morty matches him with a corresponding exhale, his hand rested on Rick's chest for guidance as they breathe as one. He still can't see Rick's face, but their closeness feels electric and Rick's presence is magnetic. It's as though Morty is existing inches away from a black hole that just pulls and pulls until there's nothing left. Rick's dark presence burns with the black substance at the bottom of the glass bowl.

Morty fidgets.

He wants this but this is already too intimate. Too much. He's got no soul left to sell and Rick's still _taking..._

But before he can protest or ask Rick to wait a moment for Morty to think, Rick murmurs. "Kay. Deep breath now, Morty."

Morty didn't see Rick reignite the bong but suddenly Rick bends down to press lips to the glass before leaning in close to Morty. Morty's heart stops, his breath catching in his throat, as Rick gently takes Morty's jaw between his thumb and forefinger, tilting his chin up before cupping his hands around Morty's mouth in order to form a tunnel.

As his grandfather gently breathes the smoke through the tunnel and into Morty's mouth, Morty remembers with a start that he was supposed to take a deep breath. He sucks down air as fast and deep as possible but when smoke, not air, hits his uvula, Morty's body rejects the stuff immediately. He chokes on it, his eyes streaming as he wrenches away from Rick with a loud cough and a splutter.

Rick snorts with laughter.

"_Laaame!_"

Morty feels more than a little hurt and shoots Rick a glare that he knows Rick can’t see. It's hardly his fault he's never shotgunned alien kush before. It's not like anyone's ever _offered..._

When Rick's done chuckling to himself, he turns to Morty again. "Okay, Morty, okay..." Morty cringes indignantly at the amusement still staining his grandfather's tone. "You alright, buddy? Need a minute?"

Morty's throat is on _fire_ but he shakes his head, deciding to just go for it again before he backs out or Rick gets bored with laughing at him.

"We—_ahm_—we'll t-try again. I promise—_heh_—I'll go slower this time. Be gentler on your little pink virgin lungs Morty." Rick chuckles and Morty bristles. "Keep your hand on my chest."

Morty glares and then nods. He's grateful the poor lighting is hiding both his affronted frown and the embarrassment in his cheeks.

Now that he knows what to expect, it's easier. Rick relights bong back to life and when he makes the tunnel with his hands again, Morty manages to slowly inhale a mouthful of the sweet-scented smoke, stopping as soon as it becomes uncomfortable in his throat.

"G-good boy Morty, now hold it. Hold it in."

Morty holds his breath as instructed. The substance burns the walls of his throat, the roof of his mouth, his tongue, and Morty can feel it settling into his lungs, warming the inside of his chest in a manner similar to alcohol. It aches but it is soothing enough to give comfort instead of pain.

"Now breathe it out, Morty. Breathe it out."

Morty exhales sharply through his nose, stinging his nostrils. He coughs into his fist but this time manages to keep his dignity.

Rick places a hand on Morty's back.

"That's it."

Morty’s brain feels slow. He's not sure if he's a lightweight when it comes to getting high or if he's just light-headed from the lack of oxygen. Rick's stroking up and down Morty's back in encouragement and Morty looks up at him gratefully.

“Thanks..”

"Mmm... want more?" Rick hums, a slyness in his voice makes Morty shiver. Morty can see the glint of his teeth in the neon-tinged gloom. A siren suddenly shrieks just outside, illuminating the room with harsh red and blue. The sweat on Morty’s skin turns suddenly cold and he stiffens, jerking his head this way and that, glimpsing the window and then the door, lowering his centre of gravity in order to spring from the mattress and fight. The room is too small. He needs out. He needs air.

The lights fade, leaving only shadows and the ever-changing glow of the sign outside, but Morty still sits poised and ready.

"Shh..." Rick murmurs, sensing Morty's tension. "S'alright. It's alright, Morty, come here..."

His hands descend onto Morty's hips and somehow Morty finds himself guided around so he's reseated straddling Rick's lap. Rick reaches up in order to hold Morty's face in both hands, and when he gently swipes his thumbs beneath Morty's eyes Morty realizes with surprise and shame that he's been crying. He draws in a shaking gasp of sugar-tinged air and the room rocks in time with silent music. Unsure what to do with his hands, Morty places them nervously on his own thighs and looks desperately up into the blackness where Rick's face is hidden. He can hear Rick talking but can't fully comprehend any meaningful words. How long has he been hyperventilating?

"I know today was hard on you, Morty, I know." Rick's voice drifts into focus. "B-but don't be afraid, baby."

Rick's voice lowers to something barely louder than a breath.

"Grandpa's here. Grandpa's got you."

Morty chokes back a sob.

Because _'Grandpa' _has got it all wrong.

A hard day where he killed Glomflamites, pointed a gun at someone he might have once called 'friend,' almost died, and has now found himself on the run and shacked up in a sleazy hotel where anyone outside these walls could want him dead?

_Psh. _In Life With Rick, that's just a day ending in Y.

No. Morty's crying because—Rick's fingers trace down the side of Morty's throat and Morty feels his own pulse throb hungrily against his grandfather's curious touch—Rick is finally, _finally_, touching him again. And it isn't the rough necessary touch of sutures or needles, he's handling him warmly and lovingly and with such undivided care and attention Morty can't help but weep. Morty's been too afraid to care until this moment, with the sun gone and nothing but a weak neon glow to keep the world visible.

Rick's babbling now that he’s properly settled into his high, muttering soothing shushing words that just make Morty want to cry even harder.

“Mm...mío...”

"Rick?"

"It's alright, Morty_..._it's okay...hush now, it's okay. I'll... I-I'll protect you. I'll protect you from all of them. Here... Hey, look at me. Look at me, Morty. Here, let me... let me take the pain away..."

Rick takes Morty's chin in his thumb and forefinger and even in the dark Morty can sense his grandfather's gaze zero in on his mouth.

"Pucker up, baby."

Morty's heart leaps almost painfully as Rick's lips press down on his own and all Morty can taste is warmth and sugar. The room is frozen in time, hushed in the silence between heartbeats. Even the garish neon lights are subdued. It's as though the walls and bed and sin-stained carpet are all in on a terrible but wonderful secret.

Morty has time for only one last thought, which crystallises in the forefront of his mind before he falls...

_I love him._

But the feeling is quickly dwarfed by the bliss that swirls from Morty's chest up into his brain as Rick gently parts Morty's lips and breathes hot life directly into Morty's lungs. It should burn, but it doesn't.

The pain from the poorly-stitched gashes on Morty's back dulls to nothing, and the events of the day dull down into distant memory, like a particularly awful fever-dream, but Morty is finally well now and the sickness and nightmares are over.

Morty's whole world is this room, and as ugly and dirty as it is, it is _his, _and no one but Rick will ever touch him here.

Rick's fingers stroke the curve of Morty's throat, and eventually rest on Morty's chest, covering his slow-beating heart. Rick's other hand gently edges to the back of Morty's neck and Morty feels hot tingles creep lovingly into his cranium, giving his brain a _seriously good_ massage... Morty sighs contentedly through his nose as Rick continues to mouth at his lips, his tongue dipping in just a little, just enough to taste him...

Then Rick breaks away suddenly and it's all Morty can do not to cry out with want. He's balancing on the tallest wave in the widest ocean with stars beneath his feet and if he loses himself he'll never find his way back to shore.

"_Riiick!_"

"Shh... I've got you, I've got you."

Rick holds him as Morty exhales slowly from his nose, pointedly ignoring the harsh burn in his nostrils. His hand is still on his grandfather's chest, feeling the rise and fall of each breath, the low rhythmic beat of his grandfather's heart.

Rick presses his nose and forehead against Morty's, holding their faces close.

"That's it, Morty." Rick praises in a hushed voice. His fingers gently stroking Morty's sternum. "Breathe. Nice and deep." Morty can feel his own heart thudding erratically against his grandfather's palm. He wants to be calm, wants to impress Rick with how collected he can be even after his short-lived blubbing session. Rick sucks on the bong again and this time, as he approaches Morty, Morty begins sucking in a breath before their lips touch. It creates a single uninterrupted flow of ethereal glimmering smoke from Rick's mouth to his own. Morty feels the pleased smile on Rick's lips when they kiss.

The warmth spreads even further now. It pools around Morty's chest and then seeps up into his spine, his head. It's in his fingertips, in the soles of his feet, it even caresses the pieces of Morty's shattered soul.

This time, when Rick pulls away, Morty tilts back his head and sighs out the excess smoke. The smoke swirls before his eyes, glowing peach, marshmallow pink, mauve, and then powder blue with the changing neon sign. The colours dance and swirl like a nebula. A siren sings in the distance and Morty doesn't flinch at the sound this time. Rick's heartbeat quickens its pace beneath Morty's hand and Morty feels heat pool at his groin when Rick leans in close, gently pressing his lips to the side of Morty's exposed throat.

It isn't like anything Morty's experienced before. Rick’s kiss is soft and uncharacteristically timid, as though Rick were slightly uncertain of himself. His lips barely graze Morty's skin yet Morty's flesh erupts in goosebumps at the intimate touch. Morty can't stop staring up at the glimmering swirls of smoke overhead and for that he's glad because Rick—obviously encouraged by Morty's unchanging pose—continues planting soft reverent kisses to the side of Morty's Adam's apple.

He affectionately nuzzles at Morty's neck and Morty grins to himself as he feels the scratch of stubble against his sensitive skin. And then Morty's heart then suddenly gives an nearly uncomfortably jump as Rick drags his tongue up Morty's throat, stopping just beneath Morty's jaw. Morty bites his lip and lets out a soft whimper of pleasure. He swallows and, without really thinking about it, experimentally rolls his hips.

Rick hisses through his teeth and buries his face against Morty's collarbone. Morty smiles proudly to himself, coiling his arms around Rick, holding him close. He rolls his hips again and this time Rick lets out an agonized groan.

Morty places one hand on the back of his grandfather's head, entangling his fingers in Rick's surprisingly soft hair. He grinds their crotches together, the fabric dragging, creating just enough friction to frustrate them both. His own manhood throbbing with the contact. He feels Rick's jaw clench.

"M-_Morty..._" Rick's voice is strained and still no louder than a whisper, Morty stops his movements in order to listen. "...I-If you keep that up, Morty, I'm gonna want more," Rick warns.

Morty smiles and leans in to whisper in Rick's ear.

"That—th-that's sorta the idea, Rick."

_"Jeezus!" _Rick rasps. "D-do you even understand wh-wh-what that— what you're saying here, Morty?"

"Mhm," Morty hums as he rolls his hips again.

Rick suddenly grips Morty's shoulders and hastily shoves him away, holding him at arm's length. The room sways.

"You don't under— d-do you have any idea what..." Rick trails off.

Morty doesn't respond. He has imagined, of course—many times—what Rick would be like as a lover. He assumes Rick will be something similar to the way he is in every other aspect of his life: violent, impatient, challenging and idiosyncratically silly. Morty can't think of a single part of that cocktail that doesn't sound appealing.

When Morty doesn't respond right away, Rick warns him firmly, "D-don't play with fire, kid."

Morty smiles in the dark.

How else is he supposed to learn not to get burned?

He eases off Rick's lap and Rick breathes out with what could be a sigh of relief or disappointment. Morty doesn't care which. Rick reaches for the bong again and inhales deeply from it, from the way his head tilts back—glittering mist forming above his head as he exhales—Morty can guess he's closed his eyes.

It is probably the drugs in the air—and in his mind—making him so bold tonight, but Morty does not ask permission, doesn't prod Rick about his feelings or muck about before getting down on his knees between Rick's spread legs and carefully unbuckling the man's belt.

It's difficult in the dark, but even with the swirling sugary smoke lulling his senses, Morty fumbles about and manages to get it undone before Rick flinches with realization.

_"Morty!" _Rick starts. "What the _fuck_ do you think you're playing at you—you little shit?"

Morty doesn't respond. He gropes Rick's crotch, gently feeling for Rick's zipper. Rick places a hand on Morty's shoulder and half-heartedly nudges him backwards.

"Woah, okay, n-no. I said _no, _Morty!" Rick insists crossly but Morty's not having it. He carefully worms his fingers inside Rick's open fly and opens Rick's pants just that little bit wider, gaining him better access to the erection barely restrained by the stretched fabric of Rick's boxers.

Morty places a hand on each of Rick's thighs and spreads them apart before leaning in and mouthing wetly at the fabric, moistening the satin and tasting the sweat and semen already soaking through it. He earns an anguished groan from above and Morty smiles to himself.

He reaches around Rick's hips and dips his fingers beneath his waistband, lowering Rick's pants and boxers together ever-so-slightly.

"_Morty..._" Rick hisses. "Morty...y-you..._idiot._"

Rick wriggles helpfully and lets Morty lower both his trousers and boxers together, leaving them puddled around Rick's ankles. Rick's legs are splayed open, obscene and inviting and Morty licks his lips and wraps his fingers tightly around the base of his grandfather's cock.

Rick growls in earnest and Morty gently traces his grandfather's head around his own lips, letting the taste of pre-ejaculate linger. He pumps Rick's throbbing thickness twice and then tilts it up in order to dip beneath it and gently suck one of Rick's testicles into his mouth. He gently mouths at it, having seen enough porn to know the trick of hollowing out his cheeks and keeping his teeth out of the way. He nudges around his grandfather's wiry pubic hair in order to tongue at the ball of flesh, pulling delicately at the skin of his grandfather's scrotum with his tongue before letting it go slack. He feels Rick going crazy beneath him, moaning achingly while Morty swells with pride. He didn't know bringing Rick pleasure could feel so deliciously _powerful. _Morty places a teasing kiss at Rick's base before devoting his attention back to the tip of Rick's pulsing member.

But before Morty can make his move, Rick suddenly grips a fistful of Morty's hair, yanking Morty's head back at an uncomfortable angle in order to stare up at the glimmering fog that rests upon the ceiling. Obscuring the galaxy of sweet smoke is the demonic silhouette of Rick as he towering over Morty and Morty is suddenly aware that the lights from the flashing neon sign behind him have illuminated where he kneels, meaning Rick may see his face even if he can't see his.

Even still, Morty can sense the crackle of possessiveness in Rick’s voice and can clearly imagine the sinister gleam in Rick’s eye as he bears down upon him.

"You... you really wanna do this you little turd? You... you want to suck my cock, Morty?" Rick’s choleric voice makes Morty's throat dry. "You want y-your _G__randpa_ to fuck your face? Is that something that _appeals_ to you, you sick fuck?"

Morty knows Rick likes to verbally abuse him, but here—with the smoke and the darkness—Morty can't help but interpret Rick's barbed remark as a form of dirty-talk. Morty nods enthusiastically and tries to lean in but before he can place his mouth on Rick's cock, Rick yanks Morty's hair and forces him back.

"Uh-uh!" Rick snarls. "Fuckin' say it!"

"I..." Morty says breathlessly, the harsh angle of his neck making it hard to string words together. "I wanna suck your cock, Rick. I want y-you to let me. P-please, Rick!"

The grip on Morty's hair tightens and Morty imagines his grandfather's mouth curling into a cruel sneer.

"Then open your mouth."

Morty does and Rick yanks him forward, forcing Morty's mouth onto his entire length with one aggressive motion. The smoke that was earlier shotgunned into Morty's throat has blissfully numbed his throat muscles and Rick's cock fits snugly but not uncomfortably down the tight canal. Nevertheless, Morty lets out a muffled squeak in surprise around the invading body part and although he would like a second to re-evaluate and readjust, Rick clearly isn't interested in being patient.

Ruthlessly grasping Morty's hair, Rick tilts his pelvis forward as he jerks Morty's face up and down his quivering member.

Morty swallows around the penetrating flesh and Rick groans with unashamed pleasure .

"Y-you like it?" Rick snarls. "Does it feel good having me in your hot little mouth, Morty?"

Morty can't verbally respond with his mouth full. His lips have become slick and drool is steadily coating his chin, and he's quite thankful for dim lighting because he must look a sight. He tries not to think about it, rationalizing that the messiest girls in porn always seem to be the best at this.

Rick thrusts himself even deeper and Morty moans. The sound vibrates all around him. Rick lets out a gasp.

But even with the numbing effect on his throat, Morty is struggling. The air is thick and close, heavy with body heat the scent of smoke, and with his throat full of cock Morty can't breathe. He whimpers and finds himself sweating. _Fucking hell..._ porn stars make this shit look so easy...

Rick seems to sense his discomfort and loosens his grip on Morty's hair before petting the back of Morty's head. "Exhale, Morty. Through your nose."

Morty blinks in surprise at the sudden gentleness to Rick's voice.

"Deep breaths. In and out."

Morty obeys and Rick tenderly cards his fingers through Morty's hair.

"That's it. Good boy, Morty."

Morty's chest swells at the unexpected praise and he resumes sucking on Rick's dick while Rick returns the rough hold on Morty's hair, eventually Rick's other hand joins the first in order to hold onto Morty's head, shamelessly using his face for his pleasure.

Something stirs inside Morty's abdomen.

Rick's behaving exactly as Morty had hoped: he's domineering and quick to abuse Morty's mouth. It's just this side of humiliating and just a little bit painful. And Morty fucking _loves_ it. Rick has finally let Morty close enough to offer comfort and Morty had no idea how much being subservient could possibly turn him on until it was here, literally in his face. He moans pleasantly around Rick's swollen cock, quietly appreciating the trust Rick has granted him, and shuffles restlessly in his rightful place on his knees. He needs to touch himself. Needs relief...

But when Morty unzips, Rick freezes, his enormous length still halfway down Morty's numb throat.

"D-did I say you could do that, Morty?" Rick asks, his voice tight with irritation.

"Nff," Morty responds guiltily which Rick correctly interprets as a _No._

"Then _why_ the fuck are you doing it?!"

Morty, of course, can't answer and instead removes his hands from his weeping member. He looks pitifully up at his grandfather who nods at him sternly.

"You're a disobedient, annoying little shit, Morty." Rick says nastily. "And you'll come when I _say_ you can come."

Morty whimpers pathetically and Rick leers down at him, grabbing Morty's face between his powerful metal hands and resuming a more brutal pace.

It's almost cruel, the way Rick is using Morty's face like a sentient fleshlight. And Rick's callous disregard for Morty's wellbeing ought to bother him, but for some reason, all of that just turns Morty on even more. It never used to, and Morty wonders dully if perhaps there's something wrong with him, but having his grandfather take the reigns and steer him like a broken mare is so overwhelmingly hot that Morty can barely think straight.

Rick thrusts harder before he cradles Morty's face in order to hold him at a better angle and Morty keens. The touch is so gentle, a direct contrast his earlier viciousness. Morty feels his throat constrict, his eyes welling up with tears that have no purpose here. Morty isn't sad, after all, he is elated. But they are hardly tears of joy.

And, _god_,his cock is harder than ever, it's flushed and so swollen it can barely support its own weight, he needs to touch himself... needs... needs...

But Rick said no and Morty won't disobey.

At that moment another siren wails and the room is suddenly bathed in red. To Morty's horror, Rick chooses that exact moment to look down and Morty is suddenly all too conscious of the drool and come currently dribbling down his chin and the unfortunate tear-streaks glistening on his shame-stained cheeks.

Morty gulps.

But instead of being repulsed, Rick stares down at him with disbelief. His eyes suddenly huge and greedy with unbridled lust.

"Fuck! Morty you look... suh-such a little slut for my cock aren't you, baby?"

The red and blue lights are gone as suddenly as they first appeared and the pair of them are suddenly plunged into darkness once more. Rick lets out an impatient growl and slams himself into Morty's mouth down to the hilt, beginning a ruthless unrelenting pace. Even with the numbing effect of whatever alien substance was in that bong, the sudden aggression causes Morty's throat to constrict involuntarily around Rick's massive invading flesh and Morty gags.

But Rick barely seems to notice, he's babbling amidst his moans.

"_Yesss... _fuck! You feel... oh _fuck... _you feel so good, baby. You... you're doing so well. Such a good boy..."

Heat gathers around Morty's lower abdomen with the sounds of pleasure and praise coming from his grandfather. His own cock now strains angrily against his pants. It's all Morty can do not to come, untouched, right there between his grandfather's splayed legs.

Finally, Rick's thrusting slows down to something more rhythmic. Dragging his cock slowly in and out of Morty's mouth as though savouring the feeling. With a slightly emptier mouth Morty readjusts his jaw and swallows around Rick's dick. He hears Rick let out a low hiss.

"G-gonna come down your throat, baby," Rick warns.

Morty moans.

"And you're gonna swallow everything I fucking give you, understand?"

And before Morty can nod, Rick's resumed his original pace. Thrusting violently and desperately before Morty feels Rick's thigh muscles tighten and Morty's thoroughly punished throat is abruptly filled with warm soothing liquid. His mouth is so numb, he can barely taste it, but what is there tastes spicy and creamy and savoury all at once. And it's _everywhere_. Morty can't possibly swallow all of it. He tries but despite his best effort, gags on it and it sloshes up into his mouth and down his chin.

Panting from the intensity of it, Rick slumps back on the bed, his cock spent, while Morty leans forward to lap up the damage now spilled over Rick's thighs. It's too dark to see how thorough he's being so Morty does his best before crawling up on the bed next to Rick. Rick is still trying to catch his breath and Morty smiles fondly down at him.

Rick turns to look at him. He reaches up and gently pats Morty on the head, affectionately rubbing his hair.

"Thass ah... that's a good boy, Morty. Good boy." Rick mutters, reaching around to gently grab onto the back of Morty's neck.

Morty lets himself be tugged down into Rick's chest.

The room sways and Morty cuddles in close as Rick holds him. The smoke and the darkness covering them both like a blanket.


	3. Nobody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, my apologies for the small hiatus between updates. Welcome to what I believe is the longest chapter in the series so far! 
> 
> Courtesy Warning for a graphic description of self-harm and what could be construed as an act of domestic violence (though it's really more S&M and dubcon) at the end of the chapter.

"My name is Nobody"

—Homer, _The Odyssey_

_"I can fix this!"_ Rick cries. _"It's... it's still not too late. I can fix—"_

_"Rick..."_ she whispers his name like it's a prayer, one pale trembling hand reaches out to caress Rick's cheek. "_I...I know I said I always wanted us to grow old together. Well... I guess that's going to be the one adventure you'll undertake alone."_ Her exhausted features crack into a smile. The smile that could never stop Rick's heart from melting, was finally tearing it apart. _"Be strong for me, okay?"_

Trembling, Rick grits his teeth and shakes his head vigorously. _"I can—"_

_"You can't cure death, Rick,"_ she says kindly._ "Nobody can."_

Rick rips his gaze from her sweet smile, the tears in Rick's eyes dry and his jaw locks in determination as he rises to his feet. He looks down at her one last time. As the light behind her eyes begins to fade, a fire within himself burns anew.

_"Yet."_

He turns his back on her and fires his last portal. The portal that will lead to his greatest achievement yet. The portal nobody should ever dare step through, for doing so would be an act blasphemous to time and space themselves.

_"Rick?"_ a broken voice calls from behind him. _"Rick! Don't... d-don't leave me!"_

Fear laces her tone and for a split second a force seems to cautiously pull Rick back to her.

But in the end, Rick's will overpowers wins over whatever force of nature dares to drag him back.

He ignores her pleas and strides determinedly through the hole he so callously ripped through time and space. He will not look at her. He will not say goodbye.

Because this is not the end.

The hole closes behind him with a death rattle.

He is Rick Fucking Sanchez and he will make the impossible certain.

Or burn the universe trying.

* * *

Rick suddenly gasps for air as though he'd been drowning.

The top sheet of the motel bed has stuck uncomfortably to his back and his skin is coated in a thin film of cold sweat. Rick shivers with the chill and swallows down the growing urge to panic, keeping his eyes shut tight and hiding reality from view.

Nightmares.

He hasn’t had them in years. Hell, even ordinary dreams are pretty rare these days. A dreamless sleep is one of the better side-effects of being a raging alcoholic. Odd.

Rick wriggles in discomfort.

He thought he’d cured this little problem. It's more than a little disquieting having his mind invaded with memories that are are neither pleasant nor helpful.

_Oh well, _Rick thinks dully. _It's only a memory._

The mattress springs squeak with every twitch and Rick's muscles ache with what has been an uncomfortable night's sleep. But the nightmare's residual unease is fading with the growing presence of daylight and Rick is soon left with nothing more worrisome than a bit of muscular tension in his neck and shoulders. Rick’s lips curve into a smile as warmth spreads across his body, comfort soaking into his exposed skin. He sighs with pleasure. It was a very cold night.

There's a pleasant sound too. The calming hush of the ocean as the tide ebbs and flows, lulling him back into a state of rest. That's... a little strange. Rick thought he brought Morty to Grippernips. The Planetary capital of Floopynaps: a place with an entirely _frozen_ ocean. If he’s ended up on a different planet, he must have been on one hell of a bender...

Vague curiosity pulls him properly awake and Rick slowly opens his eyes. Watery winter sun shines through the gap in the curtains, bathing him in early daylight. There's a wet musk filling Rick's nostrils: the unmistakable smell of drugs, booze, and sex. As Rick's consciousness solidifies, he becomes aware of a human-shaped weight against his chest and he understands the source of the hushing sound. Someone's head lies heavy against his shoulder and their mouth is resting by his ear. A constant pulse of moist breath slides across his cheek.

It slowly comes back to him...

_Birdperson... _Rick thinks bleakly and his chest clenches. He shuts his eyes tight. That's right. He'd tried to run from his thoughts last night and naturally ended up drunker and higher than he'd originally planned. He has no memory of bringing anyone back to the motel last night and that should probably worry him, given he and Morty are fugitives.

But Rick isn't too bothered. After all, hookers don't talk if you pay them enough.

And, alright, _maybe_ he's still a tiny bit stoned from last night...

Rick considers getting up and tossing out his bedmate before Morty wakes up but decides it'd be too much effort. For now, he's content to lie here basking in the early morning glow and let whatever happens happens.

(Yep. Still stoned.)

He opens and closes his eyes, still dozing slightly as he blinks up at the gold-bathed ceiling. This motel is a shithole but with the ethereal winter sunrise, Rick feels like the cheap dirty ceiling is almost beautiful. The horror of yesterday intermingles with the nightmare from last night and Rick wonders for a moment which was the dream and which was reality. He strokes a hand over one of the thin arms wrapped around him, dragging his fingers over the slim masculine frame of—

Rick pales.

He jerks awake properly now. Morty is draped over him with Rick’s arm wrapped tightly around him, holding him close.

_I fucked him! _is the first thought that stabs through Rick’s fog-filled mind. The knowledge sinks into Rick's muscles like gnarled claws. 

How could he have gotten so careless? Getting away from himself with Morty in the room... he should have known he'd lose control! Swallowing thickly, Rick looks down at the boy and is relieved to see the kid's bottom-half remains fully-clothed.

_Okay, _Rick breathes, _okay, so I didn't fuck him._

But how far did he go this time?

As Rick nervously ponders that horrible question, Morty murmurs something unintelligible under his breath before tucking his face into Rick's chest and gently mouthing at one of Rick's pectorals. The arm around Rick's waist tightens.

Rick grimaces as the sour taste of shame fills his mouth.

The boy has barely done anything and Rick's already half-hard. And it doesn't doesn’t help how cherubic Morty looks when he’s peaceful like this. 

Sitting up slightly, Rick takes a moment to properly look at his grandson’s sleeping form. Morty’s injured, after all, and the wounds will need a proper look once the kid wakes up.

The kid’s still thin, but he is looking significantly better. His once-pale skin has earned back its natural tan and his hair has grown thick, his tight curls now loosened to short wavy locks in dire need of a haircut. There are still those scars on his thighs as well as others on his arms, his back, his chest, and Rick feels a wave of possessiveness roil inside of him when he spots an older looking scar on the boy’s stomach which he hadn't noticed before.

_That’s not recent... _Rick frowns.

Morty stirs, and with Rick no longer holding him, wraps a slender arm around himself.

Rick vaguely wonders how the boy would sound if he flipped him onto his back and kissed him awake.

_Damn it! Don’t think about it!_

He told himself this was going to stop.

Morty was as brave as he always was while Rick sat jabbing at his skin sans anaesthetic. _God,_ the kid’s tough these days! Rick had to admit he was impressed with the way Morty managed to stay so still and quiet during the whole ordeal. He swelled with pride while at the same time, carefully avoided Morty's gaze.

It brewed something sinister inside of him. Whenever their eyes met, Morty would look up at him with such a penetrating level of concern that Rick readied himself to lash out and smack that irresponsibly shy smile right off the boy's face. _Anything_ to chase away the urge to throw the kid down and undress him.

Rick cringes at the memory.

_You idiot! _Rick kept thinking at him. _Do you have the memory of a fucking goldfish? I'm a killer. I killed Birdperson, remember?_

But no matter how stormy Rick felt, Morty's dark eyes kept following his every movement.

And then, once the substances had settled into his system and Rick’s faculties had mellowed, he finally gave in and let himself fucking _drown_ in the Need that had settled into the air around them, sharing hot kisses with his grandson, shotgunning smoke into Morty's wet waiting mouth, holding that small lithe body on his lap while Morty…

  
Rick gulps.

Another memory—foggier and darker than the others—wafts to the forefront of Rick's still sleep-dazed mind: a boy on his knees looking adoringly up at Rick with his pupils blown, Rick's come dribbling steadily down his chin, while Morty did everything he possibly could to take Rick's pain away.

It was the very epitome of devotion.

A searing hatred suddenly ignites inside of Rick. It sets his veins alight with liquid fire and his chest burns with loathing. The only thing hotter is the arousal that is currently gathered at his exposed groin.

Only a fool would kneel before a monster. 

The morning rain clouds up the window and Rick hears the faint patter of the first raindrops against the glass. 

_Oh Morty…_

Rick shivers as the temperature drops with the fading light, pulling his boy snugly against his chest and wrapping them both warmly underneath the thin motel covers.

_Don't forgive me, Morty._

* * *

When Morty was thirteen years old, Rick brought him to the moon.

Rick had insisted that it was a mission to collect something important for science but even at thirteen Morty felt that excuse was flimsy at best. Morty was supposed to document the phases of the moon for a school project and Rick just_ happened _to want to take him there? Sure.

Nevertheless, Morty appreciated the gesture.

It was lonely, cold, and quiet on the moon.

For the first time in Morty’s thirteen years alive he could finally hear his own thoughts and realised he didn’t much like the company. Thankfully, Rick’s existence came to fill the void and when Morty thought he would soon be crushed beneath the weight of his own mind, Rick steered his attention to the horizon and Morty saw the brightness of the sun as it rose over the moon's grey barren surface.

It bathed the grey waste with brilliance and turned the rock to white glass. Then Morty turned to look back at Rick, and he found himself struck dumb.

For behind Rick hung his tiny blue home, surrounded by mirthless darkness with only a thin atmosphere protecting the life it contained, just like the polycarbonate of Morty’s space helmet. It was surrounded by emptiness. A Nothingness that bled on for all eternity. And with just the smallest shift on the planet's tentative axis, it would be torn to shreds.

Morty witnessed the fragility of his own existence. And yet, for reasons Morty could not explain, he did not feel afraid.

Then Rick called him an idiot for staring and demanded he hurry up and get back in the ship.

Morty landed back on Earth C-137.

He landed on Floorporian-6.

He landed on Sierra, Gyflong-7, Titan and Tiny Planet.

He landed on Purge Planet, Phoebe, Selene and Furp Rock.

He landed on Planet Floopynaps.

And at some point, Morty wonders, maybe he’ll stop landing. He’ll float in the void forever. Maybe he’ll be with Rick. Maybe he’ll be alone.

Maybe the Nothingness will swallow him whole.

Morty opens his eyes, hastily taking in the things around him: the mud-brown bed spread, the carpet and walls with the dodgy stains, the broken recliner, the door to what he assumes is the room's ensuite, the window that once bathed the room in neon glare now lets in the gentle glow of the morning.

Morty fears Nothing.

He sighs pleasantly and finally takes in the sight of his grandfather sleeping peacefully at his side, his usually stern features now tranquil for the first time in months. He looks oddly young in his sleep. A man not far past his forties instead of... however old Rick is.

Morty smiles, grateful that Rick is still resting. After everything that happened yesterday, Rick no doubt needs to sleep. But Morty is another story, he feels sticky with the sweat shared between them and there’s a sore spot in his shoulder where he laid on it all night.

Also, his jaw hurts a little.

Feeling more than a little groggy, Morty gets out of bed and staggers into their neighbouring bathroom and is surprised to find there is no shower, only a cubicle containing a simple toilet and a plain porcelain sink for hand washing. Leaving the door wide open, Morty stands over the sink and splashes his face with cold water.

When he’s finished in the bathroom, Morty steps out in order to begin his usual morning routine. It doesn’t seem to matter where he is, this is something that simply must happen.

He perches precariously on the arm of the recliner where he can keep a good consistent view of Rick, and then picks up the scalpel Rick generously gifted him for this purpose.

Once upon a time, Morty would have to psych himself up for this particular ritual. He couldn’t explain why he did it, only that there was a compulsive _need_ to hurt himself, and it terrified him. He remembers the way he used to tremble as he brought the blade to his skin, his heart thudding alarmingly with the anticipation of pain.

He’d whimper when the blade cut into him. Sometimes he’d let out a yelp or a cry and would hastily stop, stuffing his knuckles between his teeth in case he was heard. Eventually however, his tolerance built up and he could cut deeper.

But then he _had_ to cut deeper.

A nick which once made him wince, could now be ignored. It was useful sometimes. Like when that hibernating alien wolfman ripped into him or when the soles of his feet were burned. But when it comes to his early-morning routine, it’s a problem.

Morty slices into himself, beads of red appearing on the hairless surface between his thighs. He barely moves. It doesn’t hurt. Nothing hurts.

His fragile existence is barely even an existence anymore.

Morty swallows back an emotion that has no name. It's somewhere between despair and desperation and then it morphs into something truly foul. The bitter taste of rage fills his mouth and Morty grabs a fistful of thigh-muscle, digging his jagged fingernails into the skin, and twists it painfully.

Silence.

It's as though he is trapped in a meat-suit, disconnected from any real sensation. The anger disappears and Morty feels the prickle of fresh tears that fall before he can blink them away.

Everything is muted. Morty might as well be dead.

Staring desperately at Rick, Morty sniffles under his breath and tries not to make a noise. 

Rick is the only thing that can make Morty feel. Rick is real. Rick is constant and reliable and he...

Morty's hands lower to his cock without even thinking about it. He cups his length beneath the fabric of his pants before unzipping, pulling out his steadily swelling erection and then rubbing it in his fist. He's doing it dry but that doesn't matter, Morty's always preferred a slightly firmer grip. 

_"Good boy, Morty"_

Rick had said that hadn't he? He might have been high as a kite when he said it, but he still said it. 

_"That's a good boy, Morty." "You're doing so well." "Such a little slut—" _

Morty bites his lip and huffs out a small moan before sprinting into the bathroom and letting himself spill into the sink. 

Panting, Morty hastily cleans himself up and washes his hands. His eyes catch his reflection and he glares at the creepy incestuous little fucktard staring back at him. 

"...s-so fucked up," Morty gasps. He finds his scalpel again and with a sickening burst of hot fear and self-loathing suddenly drives it into his arm, slicing from the curve of his wrist down to the elbow.

The wound is deep. Deeper than Morty planned. And Morty gnaws on the inside of his cheek to prevent a squeal of pain. There's blood—oh _fuck_ there's so much blood!—and the bleeding isn't stopping. It stings, raw and evil and _red. _

Morty's heart thrums with panic that can't seem to reach his fogged-out and muted brain. His skin is going grey. He's shaking. Yet Morty's mind remains unnaturally calm, as though the scalpel isn't real and Morty is simply watching his injury from the other side of a screen. 

"Virtual realty..." Morty says to no one. "Like a video game."

He waves his arm and some of the blood splatters onto the floor.

"Wuh-oh, how many HP have I—have I just lost?" Morty snorts. 

Feeling more than a little goofy, Morty strides back into the motel room and hunts out the first aid kit Rick used last night. Awkward and one-handed, Morty carefully wraps his wrist in gauze before wrapping it in a bandage. He's unsure if he has applied enough pressure and looks down at the white material, which is an alarming match to the paling skin of his wounded arm. He pulls on a hoodie steps out through the motel door into the hall.

Maybe Rick would like some breakfast…

* * *

Morty will never get tired of this.

When he steps out of the motel lobby and rounds the corner onto the bustling busy street, he finds himself surrounded by every kind of creature imaginable. A group of Krootabulansin street wear huddle together, blamphs in fuel-stained boiler suits bustle in and out of a hovercraft workshop, and Morty even notices a couple of cat people from the purge planet Rick brought him to a few seasons ago.

No one pays him any mind as each strange creature moves about their daily business and Morty doesn’t at all mind being ignored. It feels good to get some air and blend in with the scenery.

As Morty walks, he soon finds the temperature dropping. He scours around him and quickly catches sight of a thoughtful looking creature in a long black trench coat, holding onto an unopened umbrella.

Well, this is a no-brainer.

Morty seizes a receipt fluttering in the breeze and rushes after Trench Coat.

“Sir!” Morty shouts urgently. “Sir!” He makes a show of realising just-too-late that he’s running too fast and slams into the man’s back. “Oh gosh! S-sorry, sir!” Morty stammers, holding onto the man's lapels and straightening his coat for him. “I am _so _sorry. Y-you dropped this.”

The man looks at Morty with surprise as Morty takes the umbrella and stuffs the receipt into the man’s hand.

“Oh...er… thanks?” The man looks dumbly at the receipt and then back at Morty.

“S’okay!” Morty says politely and scarpers as quickly as he can.

The creature will probably notice what’s happened when it begins to rain and he realises he’s holding a receipt instead of an umbrella, and he won’t notice his wallet has disappeared until he actually reaches for it. But that’s fine, Morty plans to be far away in the opposite direction by then.

Skidding into an alleyway, Morty opens the creature's wallet and flips through the sleeves. The man’s name is Nigel Jay Harris and unfortunately he did not carry cash. Damn. Morty slides a black bank card out of one sleeve. He would rather not borrow someone’s card and leave a paper trail. But since this card is all he’s got, he’ll have to use it.

Creeping out of the alley, Morty lets his senses guide him. The homely scent of sugar and butter and freshly cooked pastry envelop him and Morty is led to a red and white food wagon, which even this far from home is still unmistakably a donut stand. 

Morty approaches eagerly and asks for the largest box they have.

“Ghablagha? Gag’habla haghabla!”

“Nah, j-just the one box,” Morty replies politely.

His mouth waters as he watches the tongs moving the donuts from their nest on the warming tray into the waiting cardboard and he’s pleased to see the pastries are much bigger here in Grippernips than they are back home.

The attendant hands him the box with an expressionless face.

“Gabh’laga gagblaga!”

“Thank you!”

Morty swipes the black card through the reader before politely waiting to make sure the transaction is approved. The attendant gives him a perplexed look and Morty realizes this is probably not typical behaviour for Grippernips. He hastily turns away with his hoard as the first drops of rain patter against the roof of the donut wagon.

Morty opens his umbrella and stands over a nearby gutter, meticulously bending the card in half over the computer chip before throwing the remaining content of Nigel's wallet into the rain-filled gutter. It may have seemed harsh to onlookers, but if Grippernips is as rough a place as Rick described then leaving Nigel's wallet somewhere for him to find would inevitably cause a more malicious thief to rob him of everything he owned. Morty’s doing him a favour, really.

As Morty makes his way back to the motel, he pays special attention to his surroundings. There are other street vendors selling dumplings and pork buns, he walks past a corner store full of what appear to be noodles hanging on racks, and there are several clubs whose neon signs hang lacklustre and muted with the presence of daylight. 

Morty pauses when he hears a small whimper above the sounds of the crowded street. He turns and is just in time to see a small thin animal darting into an alley before scurrying behind a dumpster.

He should really keep moving. Morty knows that.

But when Morty spots a single bright, very fearful, green eye peeking out from beneath the dumpster something inside of him forces him to stop and approach.

He squats down beside the dumpster and looks carefully into the shadows where the small creature sits, offering the tiny animal his outstretched hand.

“Hey...” Morty calls softly, “i-it’s okay, little fella...”

The eyes retreat into the shadows. It's obvious that the city's instilled a natural distrust in the animal and it isn’t going to abandon it's education in order to sniff Morty's hand.

Thinking quickly, Morty reaches into the donut box and breaks off a piece of pastry before holding it out to the poor creature.

A whiskery nose peeks out and Morty can see pale grey fur surrounding a shiny black beak. He tosses the pastry towards it and the creature seizes the morsel immediately before dashing back into the shadows with a swoop of its long grey tail. He tosses a second, letting it land a little closer to him this time, and this time the creature cautiously approaches him.

As the animal crawls out from beneath the dumpster, Morty can see it properly for the first time. 

The animal's beak had him first concluding that it was a kind of flightless bird, but now that Morty sees the creature's whiskers, paws, and tufty pointed ears Morty now realizes he is looking at a strange alien cat. But what is possibly the strangest thing about the creature is the _feathers_.

Amongst the dirty grey fur, the cat has small owl-like wings protruding from its back.

Quite used to encountering unusual alien species_—_hell, technically he _is _one_—_Morty isn’t particularly shocked though he is endeared to the creature. It’s not quite a feline and it isn’t quite a bird but either way it is, undeniably, cute.

Morty removes a couple more donuts from the box and leaves them next to the dumpster. The owlcat jumps at one of them and carries it away beneath the dumpster, clutching the treasured piece of food in it's sharp beak.

Morty smiles to himself as he rises to his feet. Hopefully it won’t starve now.

“Not from around here are you?”

Morty whirls around on the spot. A dark-hooded man with an umbrella is standing at the open mouth of the alleyway. Though Morty is unable to see the man's face, a primal part of him senses he's being closely observed and from the tone of the stranger's voice, Morty can imagine his mouth curved into a curious smile.

“No sir.”

(There is no point in lying.)

“You look a little young to be here on any _legal_ business. Are you an escort perhaps?”

Morty glares.

“I jest, of course!” The man chuckles at his own non-joke while Morty bristles. “You should know, of course, that in this particular town you’ll need to watch out for the kinds of people who might take advantage of one’s kindness. This city is like a hive mind. A living breathing organism. And once it gets a taste of someone, they’re pretty much done for.”

“I can take care of myself, thanks.” Morty replies tersely.

“Oh I don’t doubt it!” The man leers. “I’m _sure_ you stitched your own back all by yourself.”

Morty freezes.

The back of his T-shirt is completely torn open. Of course the man saw.

_Stupid! Stupid!_

“You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?” The stranger's tone softens and Morty shuffles uncomfortably as thoughts of Rick, Tammy, Birdperson and his own lost family drift through his mind like dark nimbus clouds. “Look,” the man says, and as though reading Morty's thoughts explains, “I am no fool and neither are you. I understand that you might not want to trust a stranger. _I _certainly wouldn’t in your position. But you and I have something in common and so I’m displaying a moment of altruism for_—_shall we say_—_a kindred soul.”

“What exactly do we have in common?” Morty asks coldly.

“We both _need_ to help when we see a poor creature in need,” the man explains kindly.

Morty stills.

“You’re injured.” The man states matter-of-factly, and Morty feels the man's gaze raking over his bandaged arm before locking back on Morty's uneasy expression. “And you have either been stitched up by an amateur or a drunkard.”

For the second time, Morty shuffles uncomfortably.

“You’ve clearly fallen in with the wrong crowd, son. If you let me, I would be happy to help.”

The man takes a cautious step forward, holding out his hand. Morty retreats into the alley, his glare uncompromising.

“So if you ever need it, here is my card.”

Morty pauses in his retreat and looks down at the business card peeking out from beneath the black sleeve of the man's coat. But his mouth dries uncomfortably fast when he realizes that instead of skin and flesh, the man's hand is metal. The mechanical hand is the colour of polished copper and unlike Rick’s robotic arm, it only has three fingers. In place of a thumb, the man instead has small pointed hook.

Morty hesitates and the man’s arm lowers slightly. Suddenly embarrassed at his rudeness, Morty stammers out an apology before taking the card.

“It’s alright,” the man explains, a smile in his voice, “not many people are used to seeing open augmentations. I know most enhanced folk like to hide their cybernetic limbs beneath regrown skin. But I say, hey, why hide?”

Morty smiles nervously before looking down at the card the man handed him.

The card is a subtle off-white and tastefully thick with slightly ridged obsidian lettering.

**~ Falkor S. Skyrocket ~  
Head of Development**

“Falkor Skyrocket?” Morty raises an eyebrow, turning the card over to look at the man’s phone number and other business details. “I-Is that your nom de plume then?”

“My what?” the man laughs.

“Your name,” Morty smiles. “Cyberpunk city, cyberpunk name. Just… lit-little on the nose don’t you think Mr. Skyrocket?”

Falkor Skyrocket laughs again and Morty’s smile widens. The man’s laugh is oddly contagious even though he still doesn’t particularly trust him.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to give my parents the blame,” he snickers. Morty frowns as he tries to imagine the mysterious hooded figure with parents. “Anyway, I’d best be off. If you ever need anything, son, you give me a call understand?”

The man turns and Morty waits a while before leaving the alley, uneasy about being followed or having Fucker Skyrocket find out where he and Rick are currently residing. He turns over the card and finds the back of it completely blank.

The guy said to call him but… but there is no phone number on the card. In one corner, on the side with Skyrocket's name and position sits what Morty assumes is the logo of the man’s business: **_Izroth._**

Deeming it too rude to simply toss the card in the dumpster, Morty stuffs it into the back pocket of his jeans.

* * *

When Rick wakes again, the room is grey. Rain splatters against the fogged up window and Rick can’t see outside at all aside from the occasional glare of the motel's glaring neon sign.

He blinks the sleep out of his eyes and looks around him.

…Morty is gone.

Rick rises and strides into the bathroom, expecting the boy sitting on the can shrieking at Rick to get out. Either way would be quite funny after last night’s events…

But the bathroom is empty.

_Okay, okay, don’t panic Sanchez. _Rick warns himself. But he can’t help the clammy coppery taste of worry quietly bubbling at the back of his throat. The feeling rises into something more pronounced when he sees spots of dry blood littering the bathroom floor.

Strange world, dangerous city, and Morty is an idiot at the best of times. Just as Rick is about to hunt through his belongings for the Dipshit Device, he hears a rattle of the motel doorknob.

Rick pulls out his gun and quickly takes position up against the wall next to the door. The doorknob rattles again and Rick hears the click of the locking mechanism being pried apart. He waits, careful to make sure he doesn’t make too much noise.

Whoever resides on the other side of the door has just made a big fucking mistake.

The door opens and Rick seizes the creature before it can burst through. He slams the door shut and pins it against the door, his gun shoved brutally between the creature’s teeth.

Rick freezes as he drinks in the sight of Morty staring up at him—his doe-like eyes wide and watering—while Rick’s gun jams his mouth open.

“Morty?” Rick baulks, before surprise evaporates into annoyance and he rounds on the stupid kid, “what the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing? Y-y-you should know not to sneak up on your old man like that! Wh-wh-what the hell?”

Morty doesn’t say anything so Rick continues.

“And where did you go, Morty?” Rick shouts. “Do—d'you have any idea how dangerous this—how dangerous this city is? Did none of that sink in last night? Well?” Rick gives Morty a rough shake. “Didn’t it?!”

“Mff mm mm!” Morty whimpers and Rick realizes the kid can’t realistically answer with a gun crammed in his mouth. He hastily removes it but keeps Morty pinned against the wall. He's angry, he's trembling, he needs answers and he needs them now. And Morty—

Morty needs a reminder of who is in charge.

“Aw jeez, I… I just went out and got us some breakfast.” Morty responds in a monotone, as though being shoved against a wall is just par for the course.

Rick’s gaze darts down to an umbrella and a box of donuts which now lies spilled across the carpet.

Something warm and tingly forms beneath Rick’s ribcage and he immediately masks the obscene emotion with an angry scowl. Morty flinches.

_Good!_ Rick thinks with firm resolve but he lets his face soften anyway for no other reason than he can’t deal with Morty’s annoying snivelling all day.

"You're _injured,_ Morty. Don't y—don't you _get_ that?" Rick continues. "If something were to—if some_one_ were to—" Rick isn't sure how to finish that sentence and he trails off.

“Rick, I figured it out!” Morty begins to explain as Rick turns away from him. “You’re a wanted fugitive here, right? But I’m nobody! I’m nothing!" Rick feels something unpleasant stab beneath his ribs. "No one has anything to lose by killing me but they don’t have anything to gain either!" Morty continues excitedly. "So I can—y’know—kinda d-do errands for—for you and keep searching for leads on where my parents are. Maybe?”

Rick turns back to look at him. “Don’t be stupid, Morty.”

“Wh-what’s stupid about it?” Morty asks “I j-just tested it out, Rick. Just now. N-no one batted an eye seeing me wandering around. I can blend in.” Morty’s face breaks into an earnest grin. “I even stole an umbrella and no one noticed.”

Rick doesn’t speak. He regards Morty thoughtfully.

The truth is, the kid’s right. It had already occurred to him when he shot the portal through to this exact place. Rick wouldn’t even have to leave the room, he could just sit and enjoy some basic Interdimensional Cable and send Morty out into the city with a list of instructions.

But…

“That’s nice, Morty, re-real fucking nice, you’ve managed to steal an umbrella. Hoo boy, take _that_, society!” Rick sneers, pulling out his flask for an early-morning sip. “Did you—did you manage to steal us some coffee while you were out pick-pocketing the locals too?”

Morty, for the first time in a while, looks genuinely wounded by Rick’s remark and Rick stops immediately, hurriedly chugging on his hip flask.

_Jeez… _Rick thinks with gnarled surprise. _Thought the kid had thicker skin than that by now._

“This works, Rick!” Morty protests. He’s not crying but there’s a worrying quiver in his voice that warns Rick Morty’s resolve is cracking. “Y-you’re always telling me how—how worthless—”

“—you are.”

“—and how unspecial—”

“—never said that, cause it’s n_OH_t a word Morty.”

“Rick!” Morty stamps his foot indignantly and Rick tries very hard not to chuckle at how adorably indignant Morty looks right now. “Don’t you see? Those things are an advantage right now! W-w-we can—we can _use_ me to find my parents and sister!”

“Yeah, not—_eurrrrp_—not gonna happen, Morty.”

“Why not?” Morty glares.

“’Cause it’s _you_, dummy!” Rick rolls his eyes. “And since lives are on the line here I can’t have you screwing up and dooming us all.” Rick turns away from Morty’s crestfallen expression. “I’ll figure something else out.”

But as Rick begins moving away from the kid, Morty follows him.

“So that’s it then?”

“Morty, just drop it."

“You know what Rick?” Morty cries. “You— you’re a real… a real...”

“Oh boy, wh-what am I, Morty?” Rick’s goading him, Morty must know it. “Am I an asshole? A pain in your ass bigger than your own irritating voice?”

“You’re a—” Morty stammers, “you’re a _pussy!_”

“What?”

“Wh-when I called you a coward, I... I was fucking right!” Morty continues. Looking up into Rick’s furious face, unabashed and unashamed—Rick has to admit, he’s a little impressed. “You’re just this—this sad squirming _thing_ that the universe clutches in its fist. Y-you think you’re on top of it all but… but you’re not are you? You pretend to be a god but really you’re just flailing around like the rest of us!”

“Oh yeah?” Rick chides. “That’s pretty rich coming from a friendless weirdo with a messiah complex who _emotionally blackmailed_ me into taking him on this stupid mission in order to save two gaslighting egomaniacal suburbanites who don’t give a _damn_ about him _or_ his paint-huffing sister!”

"Fuck you, Rick! Y-You—you can’t talk about my parents like that!”

“Why not? A-Are they complaining, Morty? ‘Cause I can’t fucking hear 'em! And even if I could, I’m a fucking _god,_ Morty. Your parents are no more a threat to me than two particularly irritating _insects. _If they were ants versus some kid with a magnifying-glass, I'd be the fucking _sun!_” Rick throws his hands out for emphasis before folding his arms over his chest. “After everything I’ve done your Mom still doesn’t have the fucking _ovaries _to throw me out, and you think I’m mean to you now? Ohhh... y-you just wait ‘til I’ve got your sister back so she can resume kissing my ass!”

Just like that, Morty snaps.

With a loud _“Uh!” _Morty shoves Rick with both hands.

It isn’t particularly intimidating, in fact, it’s pretty funny. Morty’s bottom lip quivers in petulance and his eyes are huge, glistening with indignation.

“What kind of _god_ is afraid of pirates, Rick?”

...And then it’s fucking _on._

Rick grabs Morty around the middle and Morty—wriggly as ever—manages to twist around so they’re both wrestling on the dirty floor. Rick lets him think he has an upper hand but then flips the kid onto his belly, curling an arm across Morty’s torso and hauling him up against his chest. Rick digs a knuckle into the top of Morty’s head in a merciless noogie while Morty squeals in protest.

“Submit!” Rick laughs.

“Submit to what? Old man stink or are you gonna make me suck your cock?” Morty’s eyes flash and he gives Rick a smirk when he spots Rick's surprised expression. “Again?”

Rick blinks for a second—holy shit, they're actually going to talk about that?—and then finds himself grinning. Twisting Morty’s arm behind him, causing enough discomfort to keep the kid quiet, he frog-marches Morty to the bed.

“Piece of sh—”

But before Morty can choke out the words, Rick presses their bodies together, pinning Morty’s his arms tightly in place against his back.

“Ow! Okay! Okay! I submit!” Morty cries.

“Is this what you _want_, Morty?” Rick growls. “You want me to hold you down and hurt you?”

Morty is silent.

He reaches around to unbutton Morty’s pants and that’s when something seems to sink into both of them. Neither feel certain this is serious, but neither want to assume it’s a game. Morty struggles as Rick strips him down to his thighs, reaching a hand down to stroke the underside of one smooth exposed thigh.

Morty whimpers and Rick grins nastily.

“Gonna give you what your Daddy should have given you a long _long_ time ago, Morty.”

“Huh?”

Rick reaches back and with a firm hand, swats Morty’s plump ass cheek with as much force as he dares. Morty yelps in surprise and Rick does it once more.

He’s not sure when exactly, but at some point during the punishment, Rick’s jovial mood evaporates and leaves him anguished. Morty’s pretty white bottom is blooming with red and Rick swallows, his chest tightening.

Morty’s not the problem. Morty was never the problem.

_(It’s you, you monster.)_

Rick can feel tears in his eyes and he hastily blinks them away. But the dam is about to break and the flood of emotions and self-loathing sloshes to the forefront.

The tears pour heavily down Rick’s cheeks as he continues to spank his grandson.

Two for falling in love. One for Her. One for Birdperson. Two for the wife and the daughter he abandoned. One for his father. Five for himself. Five more for his sins. One for Morty.

One for Morty.

One for Morty.

_(Stop! He doesn’t deserve this!)_

Morty lies silent and prone throughout the ordeal, seemingly waiting patiently for Rick to stop. And Rick does once his tears have finally dried. He keeps Morty in position, scrubbing hurriedly at his face with his palm to disguise the pain.

_(You’re hurting him!)_

_GOOD!_

He draws back once more, desperate to strike Morty again for _daring_ to show such unbridled devotion and kindness to the monster that torments his nightmares. The creature that touched him. The demon that raped him. 

_I hate you!_

_(STOP!)_

_You_

_(STOP!)_

_Dirty_

_(STOP!)_

_Little_

“...bastard!” Rick hisses.

Rick draws his hand up to strike the boy one last time but as the word leaves his lips, something inside of him is rattles free of its stony cage. It’s like watching dominoes falling: a long string of events that have slowly led up to now. It’s a pattern that governs him, and therefore, _traps _him.

His raised hand falls to lovingly caress Morty’s inflamed skin. It is only then that Morty finally and violently flinches and Rick hiccups, which he quickly stifles with a fake burp. Rick quirks an eyebrow at the movement. 

Jeez. How damaged is the kid to readily accept brutality but cower beneath a benevolent touch? He looks at Morty more scrupulously and realizes Morty’s breathing has become laboured.

“M-Morty?”

No response.

“Oh, come on _Morty!_” Rick forces out a laugh, chasing away the worry that’s clawing its way to the surface. “Y-You know I was—was just messing around.”

_(Fucking liar.)_

Rick’s eyes travel worriedly down Morty’s trembling body, taking in the way Morty looks away, his cheeks stained with shame while he firmly locks his legs together. Trying desperately to conceal—

“Oh.”

Morty lets out a small whimper.

“I… I see.”

“Rick...” Morty mumbles, his face pained. “Please Rick?”

_(Sadist)_

Morty turns his head to look up at Rick and Rick’s heart stops at the desperation shining in Morty’s dark eyes.

The shame that only recently hung over Rick’s head is now eclipsed by the gathering heat of Rick’s arousal. The pair stare at one another, the air suddenly wet and thick with tension. Rick’s heart quickens as he dares to acknowledge that Morty might actually_ enjoy _being punished. The weight of such knowledge causes an impromptu blush and he realizes with a jolt that his hand is still massaging the taught roundness of Morty’s abused behind.

Rick doesn’t pull his hand away.

“M-Mor—” But Rick can’t speak. Morty’s looking up at him with concern, desire, exhilaration and…

_No!_

...Trust.

“I didn’t come last night, Rick.” Morty whispers. “L-Like you told me. I didn’t come.”

“I told you that?”

“Yeah.”

“Heh,” Rick chuckles darkly as he feels a tell-tale quiver from Morty’s hardened flesh where it lies pressed against his leg, “I really am a sadist.”

Morty smiles nervously. "But I..."

There’s a sudden bang on the door and both Rick and Morty jump, the springs of the cheap motel bed whining loudly beneath them.

Morty shoots up and away from Rick, quickly stuffing himself back into his pants. Rick doesn’t move at first, waiting for Morty to first make himself decent. In the delay, he catches a glimpse of Morty’s exposed erection before it disappears beneath his waistband, noting with mild interest the way it swings firmly to the left.

The door to the motel room bangs once more and Rick rises from the bed, striding over to the source of the noise.

“Alright! Alright!” Rick yells. “Put down—put down the battering ram, I’m fucking coming!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some stuff I wanted to draw attention to during this chapter...
> 
> **Skyrocket's Business Card** is a shameless rip-off of Paul Allen's business card in American Psycho.
> 
> **"...so fucked up"** is a nod to _that scene_ in End of Evangelion.  
Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. 
> 
> **Grippernips** is based off of the settings in the video game Yakuza 0 (Kamurocho and Sōtenbori during the late 80's) as well as my own experiences during my previous visit to Akihabara and Nozawaonsen.  
(Yes, I'm a weeb, but at least I became a weeb _after_ I moved to Japan.)
> 
> Also, please kudos or -- even better -- leave me a comment! Your encouragement is highly appreciated.


	4. The Fool and The Hermit

“Better a witty fool than a foolish wit.”  
― Twelfth Night: Act 1, Scene 5

* * *

Rick waits for the reassuring sound of Morty’s zipper before finally unlocking the door. As soon as the mechanism clicks out of place, the door bursts open and a blur of orange and black shoves its way inside.

The other Rick opens the door a little wider than Rick is comfortable and Rick realizes with a start that he’s dragging his own withered looking Morty in tow. Unlike the other Rick, who is currently dressed some kind of Halloween-themed space militia uniform complete with shoulder pads, his Morty is dressed in the stereotypical yellow shirt and jeans. Though both clothing items look several sizes too large and are clearly unclean.

Good grief. The kid looks even worse than last time. His face is ashen with hollow cheeks and an expression that is no longer anxious but _blank_, as though the only facial expression he can afford without angering his Rick is none at all. He's thinner now too, gnarled branch-like elbows protrude beneath his yellow sleeves. As he scurries inside, Rick notes with a sick feeling that the boy walks as though someone’s shoved a baseball bat between his cheeks. _(Don’t think about it!) _But even worse, this time, the boy now wears the familiar tired empty eyes nested above dark bruise-like circles that Rick now recognizes in a Morty who hasn’t been eating or sleeping. Rick’s eyes catch his doppelganger’s fingers which are tightly fastened around the boy’s thin wrist and he notices with a clenched gut that there are fingerprint shaped bruises travelling up the boy’s forearm to just below his elbow, there are even little half-moon shaped scars where the man’s nails have bitten into him.

_Christ. _Rick thinks. _And Morty thinks I’m tough on him._

“Thank fucking Moloch or whatever that I managed to finally find you!” The other Rick starts. “I-I-I don’t blame you for wanting to go off-grid, _Rick, _but _still! _Save the parlour tricks for the Federation will ya?”

“What the Hell do you want?” Rick asks nastily, shutting the door behind the pair with a scowl.

He doesn’t want this Rick or his miserable little Morty anywhere near him. One asshole is enough for this trip.

“Well, I gather you know what’s happened to us?” the Rick prods but Rick simply folds his arms over his chest and gives the man an impatient _I’m Waiting_ expression. “Kay, guess you don’t then.”

The other Rick lets go of his Morty’s wrist and, to Rick’s surprise, the boy is actually brave enough to quickly back away from him. The small Morty presses himself against the wall and looks at the floor, and well... the only way Rick can think to describe it is that he _stills. _Rick knows, objectively, that the boy can’t possibly have shrunk, but the kid somehow seems even smaller now. A trick of the way he’s holding his body, perhaps, or possibly that stillness about him which is encouraging Rick's eyes to keep on moving right past him.

The Rick attempts to sit himself down on the arm of the broken leather recliner and immediately slips off and onto the floor with a loud and ungraceful _whump!_

“Oh sorry!” Rick snickers. “I just couldn’t resist the infomercial: unwanted filth just slides right off.”

The other Rick shoots him a scornful look and Rick watches, his hands on his hips, as the bumptious old fossil scrambles to his feet in the least dignified manner imaginable. 

“Ricks are being hunted,” the man explains as he brushes stray carpet hairs from his uniform. “They’ve already got F-44b, D-103, J-221, J-42α and J-19ζ7.”

Rick takes a casual drag from his hip-flask. “Eh… that guy was full o’shit anyway.”

“Rick! The Federation aren’t the Federation anymore since you decided to get rid of them.” The Rick rolls his eyes angrily and his voice drips with sarcasm. “Th-_thanks_ for that, by the way.”

“Uh. You’re welcome?” Morty interrupts coolly.

Both Ricks turn to look at him, the other Rick looks shocked to hear Morty’s voice and Rick realizes he’s a little surprised himself.

It has been a long time since Morty has spoken to another Rick, he’d forgotten how little Morty respected them. A smirk plays on his lips as he watches Morty view his doppelganger with disdain.

“So wh-what are they now?” Rick asks casually.

“They’re calling themselves The SUM or Safe Universe Movement.”

“Wh-_heh-_what?” Rick snorts.

The other Rick continues. “As I’m sure you realize, _Rick. _N-Not everyone dislikes having authoritarian overlords hovering over them.”

“Huh?” Morty frowns. “Why would anyone _want_ that?”

Rick shrugs at him. “B-bas-basically, Morty, B-Big Brother is always watching. But Big Brother’s _also _here to beat up the bullies and call out Mommy and Daddy when they’re being assholes. You gain their protection, they gain your complete and utter dependence."

“Oh.” Morty frowns. "S-Sounds pretty Orwellian."

"Congratulations, Morty, on your brief but obvious visit to Wikipedia_._"

Morty doesn’t look any less puzzled, but the Jerry in him keeps him quiet. Rick turns his attention back to the Rick in Uniform.

"C-Continue."

“They’ve convinced a bunch of nobodies that living under tyrannical rule is the best thing for everyone and so—yeah—that’s what’s doing this. That’s why they’re reaching so far this time. The Federation have convinced the lowest classes of each dimension that the current wealthy elite are going to be tarred and feathered if they simply grant the Federation their unwavering support,” the other Rick explains.

“Eh-essentially, M’_OHRty,_” Rick belches, “it’s a Government-sponsored peasant revolt.”

“Huh? But then… how is that a revolution?”

“It’s _not._” both Ricks chorus with an identical eye-roll.

“They’re specifically after Ricks though.”

“Why? What did—_errp!—_what the fuck did _we_ do?” Rick asks. All three faces turn to Rick as though silently asking_ Seriously? _“Y-Y’know, _this_ time!” Rick explains.

“Everything.”

Rick locks eye-contact with his doppelganger.

“Oh.”

It makes sense, really. In order to achieve absolute order, the most chaotic thing in the universe must be eradicated. And if that personified chaos can simply replace itself with an interdimensional counterpart, then that would make the chaos unstoppable. Rick probably seemed immortal to those fuckers.

Until now.

“How did you find us?” Rick asks. “I-If I’m so hard to find...”

“Pure luck,” the other Rick laughs, “and a business connection here on Floopynaps. Lucky we had a branch here in Grippernips huh?”

“Pretty sure we Ricks make our own luck,” Rick replies coldly, knowing suspicion is lacing his tone.

“I wasn’t specifically looking for you but now that I have, I have to ask...”

“If you’re about to ask me how I’m hiding from Ricks as well as The SUM, then you know that if I had the answer, which I don’t, then I don’t see why I would tell you, which I won’t, even if I could, which I can’t—therefore I won’t.”

Rick folds his arms and glares as everyone in the room looks equally lost. The Rick in front him flushes slightly with embarrassment and Morty slips off the end of the bed in order to approach his own interdimensional counterpart who is currently smushed so solidly against the back wall he looks as as though he is trying to press himself through the atoms the make it. Throughout their encounter, the tiny Morty’s behaviour has been increasingly strange: keeping his eyes firmly on his own Rick but at the same time keeping himself as far away from him as possible. Whenever Rick or Morty try to make eye contact with him, the Shy Morty’s gaze hastily finds the floor.

Rick watches as his own Morty cautiously approaches the kid as though trying not to startle a skittish animal. He reaches out a tentative hand and touches the boy’s shoulder, earning him a violent flinch in response. Rick turns his focus away and lights a cigarette, sitting down on the bed where Morty was perched a moment earlier.

The other Rick clears his throat. “R-Rick.”

“What?” Rick barks.

“I… I’m to inviting you to the Citadel.”

“Wh-what?” Rick laughs “Y-You _actually_ expect me to follow you back to the Us equivalent of the Skull and Bones society? Why not just invite the last surviving Kleenex to a snot party? I’d rather hang out with the roaches here. At least _they_ know what they really are!”

“Wh-why can’t you take this seriously?!”

“Because that’s what you want me to do,” Rick can feel a spark of wickedness pulsing up into his head. “And I am _not_ going to give it to you!”

“Rick!” his doppelganger barks. “D-don’t you get it? We might not survive this time.”

“Fuckin’ _good!_” Rick suddenly snaps.

The other Rick baulks. “Excuse me?”

“You fucking heard me, asshole. I don’t—_hurp!_” Rick’s burp morphs into a cough and he chokes out cloud of smoke. “I don’t care what happens to you, the Citadel or _any_ of the Ricks. So the Federation or the SUM of their parts have won over the populace and turned us into—_errp!_—into comic book villains? Fine. W-we’ve been on this wild ride a long time, maybe it’s time we got off.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Really?”

“Really!”

“You know, C-137. Your reputation really does precede you.” The other Rick’s scowl quivers as though he is stifling a smile. “Y-you believe so strongly in your own AntiRick RetorRick that won’t even safe your own life. It’s no wonder they all call you The Rogue." Something sinister shines through the doppelganger's appearance. "Though, personally, I think I prefer your _other_ sobriquet. What was it again? R—”

“You think I give a damn what those circle jerking weirdos call me?” Rick spits. “Don’t be Rickdiculous.”

“They should really call you The Hermit,” the other Rick scoffs before his face turns severe, his voice lowers into a threat. “Or should it be _The Hanged Man_?”

“Tarot cards? S-Seriously?” Rick laughs. “I guess that makes you The Fool.”

“You’re the worst kind of Rick there is,” the other Rick snarls. “You make us ashamed to be ourselves. _Rick Ze__—_”

“That’s because I’m The Rickest Rick there is!” Rick snaps.

“You sure about that?” the other Rick leers, his eyes lighting up. Rick continues to stare him down, undeterred.

“Yes!” Morty’s voice suddenly rings out from behind the other Rick and the old man spins on the spot to stare dumbly at the two Morties crouching against the wall. Rick’s own Morty rises to his full height and glares up at him while Shy Morty grimaces and draws his knees into his chest.

The other Rick turns a gleeful look back at Rick.

“I don’t know who you are or why you think _your_ own half-baked opinions should m-mean anything, but you _do_ realize that the last time he was there he—_heh_—he kinda destroyed the place?” Morty scoffs. “Why not jus—why not just invite Bin Laden to the New World Trade Centre?”

“Jeez,” the other Rick glares. “You wanna reign in your Morty dude?”

“All the time,” Rick rolls his eyes to disguise the fond smile betraying his features. Thankfully, the old creep has already returned his attention to Morty.

“You know something? It’s pretty obvious that you _need _my Rick for some—for something. Because otherwise you wouldn’t be here harassing us to come with you. B-but you’re just too—too stubborn to admit it.” Morty continues to rant. “It’s—it’s—it’s pretty clear that the only thing rivaling your desperation for survival is your obvious jealousy! And if _I _can see that, then it must be even _more_ obvious to the Ricks on the Citadel.”

“The Citadel exists for _your_ protection!”

“Ooh! You mean: _‘it’s okay to be authoritarian __overlords __when _we’re_ the ones doing it’?_” Morty shouts. “You suck!”

The other Rick steps forward with his lips tight and a fist raised. “You got a real fucking mouth on you you little—!”

Rick shoots to his feet.

The two Ricks lock eye contact for only a split-second but Rick knows his expression is giving away a silent but clear threat:

_Hurt him, and you never leave this room._

The other one backs down.

“Morty…” the other Rick says sweetly, turning on a honeyed tone that makes Rick want to retch. “You’re a little different to the other Morties aren’t you babe?”

“I don’t see how,” Morty replies crossly, “aside from the fact I refuse to get on my knees and worship _either _of you. Rick’s aren’t _gods, _y-y’know? Y-You’re just a couple of old guys with big egos.”

The Shy Morty gives a small gasp but the other Rick simply smiles. He leans in close and places a knuckle under Morty’s chin, tilting his head up to look at him.

“You really _do_ have a mouth on you...” the other Rick purrs and Morty’s fierceness seems to falter as the Rick presses a thumb into Morty’s bottom lip.

“Mmm...” the other Rick hums in a way that reminds Rick of someone experiencing a particularly delicious bite of untasted food, though his expression remains stoically clinical. “You really are something else aren’t you?”

The hand beneath Morty’s chin lowers to softly caress Morty’s neck, his thumb traces delicately over Morty’s exposed throat.

“I wonder...” the other Rick says softly. “Do you know, Morty, that you _also_ have a special nickname on the Citadel?”

Morty looks even less comfortable.

“I don’t care.”

Ignoring him, the other Rick leans in close, his voice dropping down to a whisper as his lips move close to Morty’s open mouth.

“They call _you_ The One True Mor—_hck!_”

Quick as lightning, Rick has pinched the back of other Rick’s neck and thrust his blaster hard-up into creepy old geezer's bald spot.

“Enough.”

The other Rick’s hands leave Morty in an instant and he straightens up.

“Now,” Rick’s voice is low, dangerous, and laced with barely-contained fury. “You and I are going out into the hall to have a little chat.” Without looking back Rick says gruffly. “Morty, stay.”

Once they’re through the door, Rick slams his counterpart against the wall and presses the blaster into his temple.

“Shall we exchange safety words or just get straight into it?” the other Rick teases.

It is a very stupid move.

“I think you should know,” Rick snarls, ignoring the man, “that this is an outright _no_, to any invitation to the Hell you call a refuge. If you know what’s good for you, you won’t ask again.”

The other Rick’s lips curl into a nasty looking smile.

“Fair deal, comrade. I won’t ask again.”

“And another thing,” Rick says softly. “I know what you’ve done to that pitiful _thing_ you call a Morty. My Morty doesn’t need to see that shit and I don’t wanna deal with it. You’d better keep that thing away from us in future or it’s gonna end up euthanized.”

The other Rick’s smile widens.

“Poor old man. You haven’t a clue.”

Rick bares his teeth in a snarl.

“Do I disgust you, Rick?” the other Rick simpers. “Is it because of what I am? Or is it because of what _we_ are?” the other Rick sighs as though completely at peace with a gun at his temple. “Is it because you and I are both _pedoph_—”

Fire overtakes Rick’s vision and he grabs the other Rick’s face, digging his fingernails painfully into the old man’s cheeks, squeezing them together in order to mute his foul voice. The undeniable _wrongness_ of the man’s existence and corresponding perversion makes Rick’s throat burn. He stares deep into the old man’s ice-blue eyes, down down _down_ into his empty decrepit soul and senses within it the unmasked unbridled_ hatred_ that rivals his own loathing. 

He could kill this unholy thing and feel nothing. It’d be like wiping his own ass.

“One final thing, _Rick.”_ Rick hisses. “If you _ever_ touch my Morty again,” Rick leans in close, he grips the old man’s cheeks tighter. “I _promise_ I will kill you.”

And with that final word, Rick shoves his other self away from him. The other Rick stumbles to the side. Bent over the hallways filthy carpet, he massages his raw pink cheeks with one hand while his other is pressed against the wall for balance. For once, he doesn’t look triumphant, he looks savage, his eyes wild with anger.

“Fuck you!”

The other Rick spits at Rick's feet.

“‘_Fuck you’? _Oh no, pal. Fuck _me!_” Rick says casually and strides past his hunched-over doppelganger in order to open the door to the motel room. “Now take your shit and go.”

“MUTEY!” the other Rick shouts and Rick watches as the tiny Shy Morty gathers himself up from the ground before trotting meekly to his master’s side. “We’ll be in town a while,” the other Rick states, ignoring his Morty who is still trying very hard not to look at anyone.

“If you insist on staying, that's your choice,” Rick says placidly. “But you’d best not be in touch.”

“Don’t worry,” the other Rick spits. “We won’t.”

Rick slams the door on them both and stands back with his hands on his hips.

“Man, that guy,” he laughs in what is probably a useless endeavor to lighten the mood, “_super_ weird.”

Rick runs a hand through his hair and realizes he’s been sweating. When there’s no response he tries again.

“Am I right, Morty, or am I right?”

When he’s met with silence once again, Rick turns to look at his grandson.

Morty is leaning back against the wall, his whole body stiff like a plank of wood. Rick frowns.

“Morty?”

Morty’s eyes have glazed over, as though engrossed in a daydream, though he doesn’t look remotely relaxed. His arms hang awkwardly at his sides and his jaw is locked in place.

Rick approaches tentatively.

“H-Hey,” he says in a gentle voice, “you… not that I care but are you alright?”

Nothing.

“Morty!” Rick puts a firm hand on Morty’s shoulder and snaps his fingers in his face. “C’mon, Morty, snap out of it bro.”

Worry begins to twist in Rick’s gut. Morty may be physically standing before him, but Rick may as well be speaking to an empty shell. The boy's gaze is locked on something far in the distance, his face is milk-white and ghostly, fixed in a ghastly expression of dismayed surprise. 

It’s as though Morty is locked away inside himself. Locked away in—

Rick’s eyes widen as realization seeps in.

_No…_

Those depths. The incessant dripping. That unwavering blood-chilling sensation of being watched while naked in the dark.

Morty is trapped in that awful tomb within his own mind. The one Rick himself found horrible to enter and almost impossible to leave.

Rick suddenly grips Morty’s shoulders and violently shakes him.

“Morty!” he bellows. “Come on! C’mon! Come out of there, dummy! I need you for—for _science_ Morty and your Mom and your sister and stupid-ass _Jerry_ need you around to feel good about themselves. Th-they need you to rescue them remember, Morty? C’mon Morty!” Rick can hear his voice cracking. “Y-You idiot...” his voice lowers with hopelessness and Rick stops shaking the doll-like child that sways before him. “Stupid…worthless…piece of shit…” Rick mutters. “W-wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for you…I… I _hate_—”

Rick’s voice cracks into a tiny warble and he feels the desperation for a response fade into cold resignation.

“I love you.”

Without thinking, Rick cradles Morty’s face—blanketing the same area where that other sonofabitch dared to touch him—and firmly kisses Morty’s closed mouth.

_Wake up! _Rick wills it with every fibre of his being. _Come on, baby. Wake up for me._

But Morty’s lips remain still and locked. There’s no warm contented sigh from his nostrils or tentative hands encircling Rick’s waist. Morty doesn’t melt into Rick’s touch like he should, he simply stays still and hollow.

Rick breaks away and shuts his eyes. Numbers fill his head. Statistics, mathematics, physics equations he hasn’t touched in decades, songs he’s half-written, fucking _anything_ his chaotic genius mind can come up with in order to turn Morty back into a real person and not this... _thing_.

“How do I bring you back to me...”

But as Rick’s emotional and rational minds continue to war against one another, Rick suddenly finds himself bereft of anything remotely logical or reasonable. The unfairness of the situation, and the utter sense of helplessness on Rick's part boils into something that is no longer hopeless but ferocious. 

Furious, Rick lashes out and slams a fist into the wall next to Morty’s head.

The boy doesn’t even blink.

Swallowing down a wave of sickness, Rick reaches out and plucks Morty’s wrist from his side, feeling the boy’s bounding pulse against his fingers. Fuck. The kid feels like he’s running a marathon. It’s an unnatural clash against the illusion of calm presented on Morty’s face.

Rick accepts the moment like a poor diagnosis.

He delicately puts an arm around Morty’s waist and with his other hand still firmly but gently holding his wrist, Rick carefully guides Morty to the bed.

Morty drags his feet, not in a display of resistance but as though he’s stumbling blind; when he reaches the bed, his knees bump into the mattress. Rick gently turns him and guides the boy down into a sitting position before laying him down on his back.

Morty lies corpse-like with his glassy eyes staring vacantly up at the ceiling. Rick’s gut clenches at the sight and with gentle hands Rick tenderly rolls Morty onto his side, readjusting the boy’s limbs where they can remain the most comfortable. Morty looks unnaturally small like this, fragile, and so sick...

“Okay Morty,” Rick says quietly. “You just—y-you can just rest a bit.” He carefully closes Morty’s eyelids. With the peaceful way the boy is positioned, one could be forgiven for thinking he’s asleep.

But he isn’t.

Rick can’t pretend. Not when he’s been inside that awful place himself. He knows Morty is fully awake and trapped inside his own head. While Rick remains here with his feet planted firmly in reality, helpless to save him from the void.

With a heavy heart, Rick pulls his guitar out of its case and tries to get comfortable on the broken recliner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's talk about Tarot Cards and their symbolism:
> 
> **The Hermit** is said to represent soul-searching, introspection, being alone, and inner guidance. When reversed it symbolizes isolation and withdrawal. In his right hand, he holds a lantern with a six-pointed star inside; it is the Seal of Solomon, a symbol of wisdom. As the Hermit walks his path, the lamp lights his way – but it only illuminates his next few steps rather than the full journey.
> 
> **The Fool** is numbered 0. I have been told that the major arcana "both begins and ends with the fool" and I have also heard that the major arcana is also considered to be the fool's journey. The card depicts a young-looking man wandering uncaringly over the edge of a cliff. He is gazing upwards toward the sky (and the Universe) and is seemingly unaware that he is about to skip off a precipice into the unknown. There is a white rose in his left hand, which represents his purity and innocence. At his feet is a small white dog. In my personal Tarot deck, the white dog is biting The Fool's leg hard enough to draw blood. In other decks, the dog is jumping playfully. In either case, a dog represents loyalty and protection. 
> 
> **The Hanged Man** shows a man suspended by the foot. He is hanging upside-down and is perhaps seeing the world from a new perspective. His right foot is bound to the tree, but his left foot remains free, bent at the knee and tucked in behind his right leg. His arms are bent, with hands held behind his back, forming an inverted triangle. Despite the uncomfortable angle, the man's facial expression remains serene, suggesting he is not in this position against his will. In my deck, The Hanged Man is clothed in red symbolizing passion and also blood. I've been told The Hanged Man is the card of ultimate surrender, martyrdom, of being trapped in a certain place in time, and sacrifice to the greater good.  
There is also a Christian interpretation that portrays Judas Iscariot, and include the bags of silver in his hands.
> 
> I personally believe every character in this chapter can be represented by all three cards.


	5. Out of Hell

“Long is the way and hard, that out of Hell leads up to light.”

― John Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

Falkor leans back in his chair, giving it a triumphant spin as he observes the maps currently spread over his desk.

He isn’t the kind of man who enjoys sitting in offices, sending out orders, or having his coffee brought to him by interns who look like they wouldn’t know the butt of a gun from the barrel. But even if he isn’t in amongst the action, Falkor still recognizes the innate satisfaction of knowing progress has been made.

“It’ll be over soon enough,” he says with a pleased smile as he turns to look outside at the sun sinking mournfully over the water, her fading orange light bleeding into the Grippernips' polluted river and casting glittering reflections, turning the city to gold.

“Sir?” a small apologetic voice calls from his open office door.

“Winkler!”

Falkor acknowledges the small man with a cordial nod and a smile. He usually tries to be a friendly to the staff. They are overworked, underpaid and not stupid enough to overlook it, but a kind word now and then has incentivized them to stay late whenever Falkor requests. Proving once and for all that it is better to be loved than feared.

“Um… h-he’s here, sir.”

Falkor's heart sinks. His warm smile unsullied, he nods and turns in his swivel chair to face the door fully, readying himself for impact.

“Send him in.”

Winkler quickly departs in order to speak to someone on the other side of the door. His voice is hushed, afraid. Of course, Winkler has nothing to fear from Falkor's odd associate, Falkor would kill him on the spot if he ever harmed a member of his loyal staff. 

But that didn't make dealing with him any more pleasant.

Falkor absently taps a fingernail the hard wood of his desk. He can see Winkler's trembling backside from here. The pair continue to speak in hushed tones and Falkor frowns at the doorway. A nasty cocktail of both annoyance and worry brewing deep in his gut. He looks down at the hook on his hand. 

The man had better not be threatening Winkler...

“Well?” Falkor calls, his cheerful accent a little too forced.

“Falkor Skyrocket!” a jovial voice booms as the door is flung open the rest of the way. “So _good_ to see you!”

The man's arms are open wide as though greeting a crowd of thousands and Falkor can't help feeling a little ridiculous being the single spectator to the man's theatrics. 

“Likewise,” he replies coolly.

“Can you believe how hard it is to get a taxi in this city?" His associate rolls his eyes and sits down on Falkor's desk, his ass obscuring the precious maps from view. "I mean, holy shit right?”

“Cut to the chase," Falkor waves off his compatriot. "What information have you got for me?”

The other man nods in understanding.

“Of course, of course, _Officer__,_” he smiles, dolloping a heavy amount of sarcasm on Falkor's title.

Falkor bristles. 

"You’ll be pleased to know our motorization of Sanchez has proved fruitful.”

“Indeed?”

"Well first off Falk—can I call you Falk?" from one of the apparently bottomless pockets of the man's coat, he pulls out a fresh apple and—after giving it a quick wipe with his lapel—bites into it. Splatters of saliva-diluted juice land on the maps spread across Falkor's desk. He quietly observes the smudged and sticky paper, not bothering to hide his scowl. “Mmf!" the man continues chewing. "H-he killed Agent Gutermann as I’m sure you know.”

“Of course I know!” Falkor snaps, letting an angered fist fall on the center of the table. “She goaded Sanchez and it ultimately lead to him ending her life. The man’s a bonafide psychopath. In other news: water, wet!"

“Temper, Falk, _temper_," the man waggles a finger at Falkor as though scolding a naughty schoolboy.

Falkor's grimace sours even further. If it weren't for the man's necessary business assets, he'd have shot him months ago just for the near-permanent smirk on his foul face. The man is in _his_ office after all, following _his _instructions, and it is only because of _him _that the man is even alive right now. Falkor deserves to be shown some proper respect.

The man turns a bored look towards the city skyline and continues talking. 

"It turns out Agent Gutermann didn’t goad Rick as we first thought,” he explains, “we have now properly reviewed the footage collected from Gutermann's cornea-cam," his face stretches into an almost maniacal grin, "it was not, in fact, _Sanchez _she was speaking to before she was killed but his _grandson:_ Morty Smith.”

“Morty Smith?” Falkor sits up straight, palms flat on the surface of his desk.

_Morty Smith… _the mild unassuming boy in a dirty hoodie with a messed-up back he had seen feeding the stray owlcat? _That _Morty Smith? “Are you telling me that _kid_ crushed Gutermann’s skull?”

“Oh no! Falkor, _nooo—_heh—no," Falkor's compatriot laughs,"Morty Smith was just the one Gutermann spoke to moments before her death." From another one of his infinite pockets, the man pulls out a pen drive. "Here, I’d like you to view the footage we have recovered for yourself.”

Falkor takes the pen drive from his colleague’s outstretched hand and plugs it into an unoccupied desk socket. Immediately, the abstract art on the east wall fades and a screen bursts into life. Falkor and his colleague then witness an awkwardly close worm’s eye view of Morty as he glares into the camera.

Falkor's breath catches as he takes in the sight. This Morty is as far removed from the Morty he met in the alley as The Princess Bride is to Hostel. Rather than an anxious thoughtful boy, out of place in a violent city, Falkor now looks into the eyes of a determined and furious young man whose gaze is focused into the camera like a laser-beam.

"One thing about laser-mesh,” the boy’s lack of natural stutter is disarming, “it's a bit of a double-edged sword. You're not gonna seduce anyone again, Tammy."

Falkor’s blood chills.

He knows what's just happened, though the rational part of him still refuses to believe it.

Morty mutilated her. That’s what he’s talking about isn’t it? It looked as though Sanchez had taken his time torturing the woman before finally putting her out of her misery. But no, it was the _grandson_ who had chosen to disfigure her. And he was going to make her _live _like that.

_Jeez… _Falkor breathes. _The kid’s a natural-born sadist._

"You are—_fff”_ the footage sputters. Falkor listens to Agent Gutermann’s desperate voice crack through the footage before it fizzles back into focus, "_fff-_a groomed pet. You—” more static “—fffamily want to be saved by something like you? You're disgusting."

Morty’s expression is fascinating: sorrowful, mortified, but not remotely outraged by Agent Gutermann’s cutting statement. Falkor is reminded, oddly, of a pre-teen who has just been caught looking at porn; but not nearly so shallow. There's something unbelievably tragic in Morty's expression. It is as though Falkor is witnessing a soul being exposed and then sneered at.

Then, for a split second, Morty's eyes dip in shame and Falkor blinks.

_What the Hell was that?_

Then Morty’s face vanishes as he is suddenly shoved aside and Falkor finds himself staring into the familiar fierce face of the nightmare himself.

Rick Sanchez: white with rage, his ice-blue eyes narrowed and cold, his lips curled back to reveal his yellowed teeth bared in a beast-like snarl. His whole body trembles beneath the weight of his own anger.

The man looks deranged, drool covers his chin where he is literally _foaming at the mouth_. Rick Sanchez, in this moment, has gone completely mad with wrath.

Even in the safety of the office, Falkor feels his heart sink at the sight and he breathes out a shuddering sigh.

“Y-Yeah...” his colleague agrees, not looking at Falkor. “N-not a face you’d forget in a hurry is it?”

There is an ugly wet _crack! _and the footage goes dark.

“I think we are both aware of what this means,” Falkor’s compatriot says with a triumphant smirk. But Falkor is silent.

Rick Sanchez—the man. The genius. The fucking _legend—_is not some mythical god of destruction.

He is a madman.

Falkor has seen Rick, of course. But until now he hadn't really _looked _at him before. A vicious intelligence, a temper unbridled, and a mind that was broken a long long time ago. Rick Sanchez is the walking embodiment of _chaos__._

Falkor's compatriot gives a little impatient cough and Falkor looks up at him, masking his trepidation with a blank stare.

“The weak spot we have been searching for," the man explains, "it’s not a crack in Sanchez’ armour but..." he leads.

The answer slams into Falkor.

"It's the armour itself!”

“Ding! Ding! Ding! We have a winner!” 

Falkor finally allows himself to smile.

This is fucking _perfect. _He already had a vague plan in place to win over the affections of the attention-starved teen, but now... _now..._

“Alright, partner. I’m going to need to ask you to leave." Falkor states, rising from his seat with an air of authority. "I have a few new things to consider and a new plan to formulate. Thank you for the new information, I will call on you when I need you next.”

“Until next time, sir.”

The man gives an exaggerated bow before departing.

_Morty Smith,_ Falkor rewinds the footage to look at the young boy once more. _The boy who brought order to chaos._

* * *

Morty is not quite here and not quite somewhere else. Reality continues to hover just out of reach and each time he almost breaks the surface, something gnarled and moist and evil reaches out and drags him back down into the dark valley where everything is lost and even his own thoughts are impossible to grasp.

He’s with Rick and Rick is hitting him. It hurts and he likes it. He can’t stop his teeth gritting, the embarrassing mewling noises escaping his throat, or the way his cock throbs with each blow. Then Rick’s caressing Morty’s bruised ass and suddenly reality has slammed into him. He’s here, really _here_, and even though it feels humiliating and ridiculous and just a little cruel—Morty’s grateful to find his feet back on solid ground.

Why is everything blurry? Why does he feel light-headed one moment and anxious the next?

Morty can see himself crouching next to another Morty and behind another Rick. The Morty is so small and weak, Morty almost finds himself hating him. But the thin pathetic creature looks so lost and sad, that pity chases away any real loathing.

He approaches the kid and reaches out a kind hand.

The other Morty jerks away in horror, as though Morty is diseased.

“It’s okay,” Morty says gently. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

The other Morty does not speak, he simply looks away. Morty is reminded, unsettlingly, of the little owlcat he fed earlier. Is this what Morties become when they let themselves fall apart?

Is this what _he _became when he—

The boy overbalances himself in his squatting position against the wall and tips, landing harshly on his bottom. The Morty gasps, his eyes watering, gritting his teeth tightly together as though stifling a scream of pain.

“Here,” Morty says worriedly and helps his doppelganger sit up. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

The other Morty looks at him—confused, lost, but tentatively grateful—but then, as his gaze slips back down to the floor, the boy notices the bandage peeking out from beneath the sleeve of Morty’s hoodie.

The other Morty’s mouth falls open and Morty feels a wave of dizziness overtake him. The other Morty looks like he is about to speak but then, as though time has skipped, Morty can hear the two Ricks arguing and a surge of frustration courses through him.

His grandfather is looking at him carefully. There’s a salacious spark in his eye that is more sinister than alluring and there’s a booming instinct inside of Morty telling him to fucking _run. _

But Morty’s legs won’t move. He’s dizzy. And if Rick—no, not his Rick, another Rick—hurts him, Morty won’t be able to do anything about it.

The other Rick whispers something and Morty can feel darkness rushing in to meet him. He’s falling. He’s watching a scene unfold where his Rick puts a gun to the other man’s head, but he’s watching it from somewhere further and further away until he can barely see at all.

The waves crash down on him and Morty’s lungs fill with sludge...

* * *

Someone is touching him, but it isn’t aggressive or cruel, this is something kind. And then Morty is being gently laid down. He can see the motel. He can see Rick. But then he can see Nothing.

He’s here. He’s somewhere else. Three words yank him this way and that, steering him from memory to memory and then back into the dank empty space where his soul ought to be.

“One True Morty.”

He can’t remember if he fell asleep in the void or if he fell asleep in the motel. The world keeps shifting in and out of focus and Morty keeps forgetting things. He’s having a conversation with the other Morty. Then he’s looking at Rick who is staring at him with… concern? Obsession? 

“_And I _hate_ you for it!” _

...a memory. He’s tied to a mortician's slab in the torture chamber on that asteroid. Rick’s whipping him. He’s angry. He’s so angry. And Morty can’t understand what’s wrong.

“Stupid…worthless…piece of shit…w-wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for you…I… I hate—”

Is that another memory? Is it a dream? Is it really happening? 

He remembers the quiet and cold moon he once visited. He remembers everything becoming beautiful when his grandfather showed him the sun. He remembers his feet on the ground when he landed on Earth C-137…

**C-137.**

Something about that dimensional number…

“_That’s because I’m The Rickest Rick there is!”_

A voice pierces through the darkness like the glint of a knife and Morty's chest clenches.

**:: when I find you, I’ll kill your family ::**

A single tear falls from Morty's cheek and lands on the exposed skin of his thigh.

_...Then I will make you search forever._

The soothing strumming of an acoustic guitar rings through the fog and Morty reaches for it. It isn’t a song he recognizes though the accompanying voice sounds familiar. It’s low baritone guides him like a warm light through the darkness and Morty follows it desperately.

_I’m so tired… _Morty thinks sadly. _Help me..._

“_No horror, Hell, or storm that passed_  
_Could ever rival _  
_This pain in my ass...”_

The road behind him is so long but the road ahead stretches to infinity. _Someone... _ Morty thinks tiredly, _so__meone carry me home..._

“_You need waterwings to eat your soup_  
_And I keep seeing each hurt and bruise_  
_Another one I could abuse_  
Tell me  
_Why do I_  
_Love the gravel in my shoes”_

It’s easier to stand now. Morty stumbles through the darkness on bandy limbs that can barely walk. But with determination, he keeps presses on regardless...

“_H__ere I stand upon the sea_  
_Because you stand with me”_

...towards the promise of shelter from the storm...

“_You’ve led me farther_  
_Than I ever dared to wander”_

Morty feels his eyes open and he blinks away the cold and the damp to find himself in a clear, solid world around him.

_“Now I walk upon the waters_  
_ My feet won’t find_  
_ The shore”_

Morty turns his head and sees Rick sitting back in the broken recliner, an acoustic guitar held lovingly in his arms while Rick croons in a soft guttural tone that has Morty’s heart both speeding up and slowing down.

_“I’ve journeyed deeper_  
_ Than I ever dared to wander_  
_ My faith in you grows stronger_  
_ I’ll follow where you call me”_

The fragility in his grandfather’s voice sinks deep into Morty’s skin, his bones, his blood. It pulses alongside the thrum of his own aching heart, resurrecting regrets long since forgotten and acknowledging those dark empty spaces inside of him.

_“As oceans rise...”_

It’s a song of mourning: of a love undying but forever lost. It’s a curse. A tired young man drowning in the need to give all of himself to another, only to know, deep down, that such a generous gift will be left like a message written in sand soon to be washed away by the tide. The universe is like that. Even the grandest gestures mean nothing.

Morty watches Rick cradle his guitar against his body as though holding a lover.

_“When you call out my name_  
_ Your voice drags me across the waves_  
_ As oceans rise _  
_ Freighted with the curse of time_  
_ I am Yours_  
_ Even if you're never Mine”_

But the dirge, though filled with sorrow, holds no self-pity. It is the simple reverent acknowledgement of the inevitable tragedies of life: loss, love, and pain.

Morty sits up and watches Rick play to the end of the song, his deft fingers plucking the strings with the kind of care and attention lost to most artists. Finally, Rick lets the final note vibrate throughout the motel room and even in the rain, even with the ugliness and awfulness surrounding them, Morty feels warm and safe and almost at peace. 

“Mmm...” Morty hums. “Hey.”

“Morty!” Rick coughs and nearly drops the instrument before suddenly adopting a more disinterested tone. “Jeez, _Morty,_ took you long enough!”

Putting the instrument aside, Rick rushes to Morty’s beside and immediately cups Morty’s face, staring deep into his eyes before jabbing two fingers into the side of Morty’s neck.

Morty jerks at the invasive touch but quietly lets Rick take his pulse.

“You okay, Morty? You do—doing okay, buddy?”

“Yeah,” Morty nods. “J-Just... that was weird.”

“I’ll say. You full-on fucking dissociated, _Morty_,” Rick tuts impatiently. “I mean, jeez, what the hell?”

“Aw jeez, Rick," Morty says indignantly, rubbing the back of his sweat-slicked neck. "It’s—it’s not like I did it on purpose, y-y'know.”

“Well, now that you’re not lying around anymore, Morty, pack up your shit and get ready to go. I want us out of this motel as soon as possible. I don’t like the thought of that Rick knowing where we sleep.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Morty agrees and bounces up from his spot on the bed. “Hey Rick?”

“Mm?”

“What did that Rick say before I dissociated?”

“Y-You don’t remember?”

Morty shakes his head.

Rick hesitates and Morty smiles at him reassuringly. “It’s okay, I don’t think I’m going to do it again.”

Rick looks away.

“He called you The One True Morty.”

“Oh.”

“‘Oh’? Wh-wh-why ‘oh,’ Morty? Does—does that mean anything to you?” Rick stammers urgently.

“Sorta.” Morty explains. “D-Do you remember when we ended up on that planet with that Evil Rick and the Morty with the eyepatch?”

Rick shudders.

"Fuckin' eyepatches..." he mutters. "Y-yeah, what about it, Morty?"

“Some of the Morties believed there was a _One True Morty_, they got all—_heh_—all religious about it.”

“No shit, really?”

“Yeah," Morty shrugs with a tight laugh, "I don’t really know anything about it other than it was really stupid. But, y’know, it’s a—it's a religion where the messiah is a Morty so... haha, wh-what do you expect?”

Rick looks at the floor.

“You shouldn’t short-sell yourself, Morty.”

Morty almost drops the clean socks he was stuffing into his backpack. That wasn’t—did Rick just—was that a _compliment?_

But before Morty can ask Rick continues.

“So they think _you’re_ this One True Messiah Morty?” Rick snorts. “What gave them that impression? Are you the one Morty that could tie his shoelaces before he was fifteen?”

“I don’t know,” Morty answers honestly. “But it might have something to do with the fact you’re the Rickest Rick there is and so therefore I’m the—”

“Yeah, yeah, okay I get it. It all goes without saying y’know,” Rick dismisses him with a nod and a wave and Morty laughs. He knows he shouldn’t get too big for his loafers and he quietly slips off his socks in order to replace them with the clean ones.

But before Morty can properly resume packing, he decides to finally ask Rick the question that has been plaguing his mind for months. Hell, _years._

“Hey Rick?”

“Hurry up and pack, Morty.”

“I am. Just... I got a—a _science_ question.”

“_Fine!_” Rick sighs. “Shoot.”

“Y-You know how... how for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction?”

“Newton’s Third—_errp—_Third Law, Morty. You’re not impressing me by reciting it,” Rick rolls his eyes and Morty stiffens.

“Well, doesn’t th-that mean in every interaction, there’s a pair of forces acting on the two interacting things? The size of the force on the first thing perfectly equals the size of the force on the second thing. So, like, if I push against a wall the wall pushes back equally hard, yeah? If... if, say, the _universe_ is the object, and I dunno... _we_ were the forces acting on it—”

“Morty," Rick groans. "I’m getting bored faster than you’re talking, can you just skip to the punchline already?”

“If there’s a Rickest Rick and a Mortiest Morty, doesn’t that mean there’s also a Mortiest Rick out there?” Morty suddenly blurts out as fast as he can.

Rick gives him a significant look.

Morty’s gaze finds the floor and he murmurs. “A-And a Rickest Morty?”

There’s a weighty pause and then Rick lets out a groan of annoyance.

“What?”

“M-Morty, s-stick to the—_ehrmp!—fiction _part of science fiction kay?” Rick waves a hand dismissively and pulls out the portal gun in order to fiddle with its coordinates. “You’ve gone and launched yourself into an—into an expectancy-based illusory correlation and confused actual science with an Evil Twin TV trope. This isn't—this isn't _Sabrina, _Morty. Jeez. And hurry up,” Rick glares at Morty’s meager belongings, “I wanna get out of here in case that jerk-off decides to come back.”

Morty looks straight ahead. He doesn't touch his belongings and Rick, for all his snapping and nagging, is playing with the portal gun too much to care. Morty's not entirely sure where his Rickest Morty theory originated but he’s a little put-out that Rick would poo-poo it right away. After all, if any human being could be described as an all-powerful force of nature, it’d be Rick Sanchez. And like a battering-ram to a fortress, there must be _something_ of equal force working against him.


	6. Zero  I

"Emptiness is loneliness and loneliness is cleanliness  
And cleanliness is godliness, and God is empty just like me."

— Smashing Pumpkins, _Zero_

* * *

There isvvery little difference between the new motel and their previous one. There is a king size bed with a mud-brown bed cover, yellow curtains, a substance-stained carpet and a door leading to a small cubicle-sized room containing a toilet and a sink. This one, however, has no recliner or seating of any kind.

The room is only a block from their previous motel, though Rick insisted they take the innercity hyperloop to three different stations in order to come back here.

“Aw jeez Rick,” Morty had complained as Rick steered him back onto the green line, “can’t we just use the portal-gun?”

“W-W-We gotta to throw him off the scent, Morty,” Rick explains, “and I’m not touching the portal-gun ‘til I know the bastard hasn’t hacked it somehow.”

“But did we have to go all the way to Nishiki Junction just to come back here?”

“_Yes, _Morty,” Rick heaved a sigh that sounded as frustrated as Morty felt, “doubling back is th-th-the _last _thing I wanna do, which means it is the last thing that Rickless asshole is gonna expect me to do, catch me?”

“Um...”

“Morty, you don’t need to worry your… your pretty little mind about it. Just trust Grandpa and stop whining.”

“Kay.”

“And if you don’t, I’ll leave you here at Slumphart Station and you can—you can go ahead and find your own way around the dank polluted bowels of the universe. C-Cause y’know, Morty? This is—this is _your_ adventure after all.”

“I said _okay, _Rick! Jeez...” Morty pouted but did not miss the smirk playfully stretched on his grandfather’s face.

After his grandfather’s jeering, Morty deliberately put a spring in his step to spite him. Rick can be an asshole sometimes, especially when he’s stressed, and clearly his interaction with his interdimensional doppelganger bothered him more than he wanted to admit. Still, taking his frustrations out on Morty was a bit of a low blow.

Rick now lies sprawled on the bed, once again tinkering with the portal gun. Morty watches as Rick’s thumb slides around the little wheel that adjusts portal-gun’s dimensional settings. Morty doesn’t understand all the letter and number codes that flicker on the dial above. C-137 is his home but there are some codes which contain the Greek alphabet, others resemble Aramaic or some other ancient language, and some look completely alien entirely.

What was it Rick said? That there was an infinite number of universes?

_I guess eventually you run out of normal English letters and numbers, _Morty notes as Rick spins the wheel once again, letting it linger on _0000 _for a moment before he flicks his thumb upwards, spinning the wheel in the opposite direction and sending the various letter-number combinations soaring higher again. _Heh, _Morty thinks dully, _I guess that would make C-137 one of the youngest universes..._

“Hey Rick?” Morty asks, after removing his toothbrush from the duffel bag and opening the toilet door.

“Hm?”

“I was just wondering, h-how come there’s no shower in these bathrooms? A-Are w-we—we supposed supposed to wash ourselves in the sink or something?”

Rick’s disinterested expression sharpens and he looks up at Morty with a wicked glint in his eye that makes Morty’s heart do a back-flip.

“Grippernips has a—it has a d-different kinda culture when it comes to bathing, Morty. Only really—only the real upper class types can afford to have private bathrooms in their homes. And _believe _me, those bathrooms are a sight to behold!” Rick smiles wistfully into the distance for a moment. “When all this shit with your parents blows over, Morty, I’ll show you one. Trust me, taking a bath will _never_ be the same after you give that a go.”

“So, er… what do we—”

“Public bathhouse, Morty. S’pretty straightforward and since you currently _stink_—seriously bro, wasn’t going to say anything but _whew!—_we’ll go there once you’re done with your crap kay?”

Morty didn’t have it in him to protest.

* * *

Rick is nauseous with all the emotions that fight against one another. His stomach woven into painful knots from equal parts guilt and excitement.

Public bathhouses aren’t unheard of on Earth, of course, but the ones he’s seen back home are _nothing_ compared to the ones here. There is one on every block, of course, ranging from modest wooden houses connected to equally modest religious shrines to the gaudy imposing buildings adorned with red neon lights and a sleazy promise that here _“you will never bathe alone.”_

But Rick has chosen a special one for Morty.

The place is called Echo Bath and it sits comfortably in between two stand-alone noodle houses. It’s not the grandest Grippernips has to offer—the bath is free for a reason—but the fine ghostwood pillars will no doubt look beautiful in the natural moonlight.

Somewhere along the line, Rick has realized Morty is not someone who belongs swaddled in luxury—he looked adorably out of place in the luxury penthouse—nor is Morty someone who should be slumming it in the city’s underbelly.

But the only thing in-between such extremes on Earth was suburbia: a place in which Morty has certainly fared better than Rick, but not a place he can truly thrive.

Morty is, for better or worse, Rick’s counterpart. And together they belong in the empty spaces where only echoes remain. They belong Nowhere. So they can exist Anywhere.

_Rick and Morty… _Rick thinks to himself, _forever and a hundred years…_

“What was that, Rick?” Morty asks.

Rick coughs awkwardly when he realizes he was thinking out loud.

“Nothin’ Morty,” he says quickly as they approach the tall wooden building. “We’re here.”

He gestures proudly to the unassuming wooden building and catches the familiar _I’m-gonna-have-to-just-go-with-this_ look on Morty’s confused face.

It’s fitting that when they enter the bathhouse, it is blissfully empty.

“There’s no one here,” Morty states. He glances around nervously as though someone might burst out from beneath one of the wooden benches or out of a cubby but the changing area remains comfortably silent.

“As usual, Morty, you’re correct but woefully inaccurate,” Rick rolls his eyes and throws the duffelbag with their belongings over one of the hooks, “_we’re_ here.”

This is _their _place tonight.

Morty frowns, still anxious. Rick shoots him what he hopes is a comforting smile and reaches into his coat pocket for a little reassurance. The box is white, not much bigger than the palm of Rick’s hand, and its contents have been perfected since last time.

Morty’s eyes widen in recognition.

“It works differently now,” Rick explains. “Now we can time it for anything up to six hours.”

“Won’t people outside be suspicious of the place being—y’know—surrounded by a giant blue bubble?”

Rick rolls his eyes.

“Well, Morty, if you walked past a house on your street that was surrounded by a giant blue bubble wh-wh-what would _you_ do about it M-Morty?” Rick quizzes.

“Uhh...”

“Exactly—_errp!_—Morty! You’d keep walking right past it w-wouldn’t you?” Rick takes one last gulp from his flask and sets it on the bench before shedding his labcoat and hanging it on one of the hooks. “People—people see weird shit round here all the time, Morty. And like everywhere else in the universe, people are more... are more focused on their right foot following their left to actually bother looking up. Wh-why do you think squirrels get away with so much shit?”

“Be...because they’re cute?”

“Man, you are dumb.”

Rick peels off his shirt before plonking down on the bench and removing his shoes and socks. Morty watches, his face an awkward S-shape.

“Take off your clothes Morty,” Rick instructs him, “you gotta strip down to get clean, Morty.”

“Yeah...y-yeah I know Rick, it’s just...”

“Hm?”

Morty’s face pinches in discomfort and then he puts his own duffel bag on the bench next to Rick’s, quietly shrugging off his hoodie and then peeling off his shirt.

The slashes on Morty’s back look as though they are starting to heal, though the process is inevitably slow. But it’s the dirty grey bandages wrapped tightly around Morty’s exposed forearm that suddenly seize Rick’s attention.

“You’re injured.”

“W-Well yeah, Rick,” Morty stammers. “I… Birdpers—”

“No, Morty,” Rick says sternly. “Your arm.”

“Oh.”

Morty looks away and Rick glares for a moment.

“C’mere,” Rick pats the bench next to him and Morty approaches nervously, holding out his bandaged arm for Rick to inspect. “What happened?”

Morty’s face flushes and he looks away in shame. Rick knows the look and doesn’t need to prod any further.

Rick carefully peels away the bandage. “Y’did a good job treating this.”

“I did?”

“Yeah. Considering you had to do it one-handed.”

When the bandage is finally removed, Rick can see Morty’s slashed flesh for what it is.

A little known fact: it is actually quite difficult to commit suicide via wrist-slitting, which is why there are always more people in hospital with slit wrists than in the morgue. That said, Rick’s stomach still plummets when he sees the mess Morty has made of himself.

“Morty...” Rick breathes. He gets it, of course. Existence is inevitably painful. How many times has he considered his own suicide? It’s a pity no method has ever seemed to _stick. _“You didn’t—”

“I wasn’t trying to kill myself!” Morty bursts out suddenly, his brown eyes wide and earnest. “Honest! It just… I got a bit carried away. Aw jeez, it looks really bad... But I _swear_ I wasn’t trying to kill myself, Rick.”

“It’s okay, Morty,” Rick begins, but something’s wrong.

Morty looks ill. He’s pale and shaking his head this way and that. Shivering even though the air in the bathhouse is thick with warm steam.

“Hey… hey what’s the matter?”

“I can’t _feel!”_ Morty cries and suddenly fat tears have welled up and spilled over his cheeks. “I kn-kn-knew I had—had a high pain tolerance, R-Rick. But I... it feels like... like... li—”

Morty’s capacity for coherant speech dwindles down to nothing, he’s gasping for air and Rick watches dumbly as Morty presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and sobs.

Rick’s lost.

He’s never been good with people who let their emotions run unchecked like this. Beth’s toddler tantrums were systematically cured with a trip to Froopyland or an anatomically correct toy, and when his wife became emotional Rick could usually butter her up with…

with…

Rick makes a face discomfort. She hasn’t trespassed his thoughts in years. Why is he thinking about her_ now?_

He blinks quickly and shakes his head, freeing himself of the reverie, before removing his lab coat from the wall. He pulls out a syringe from its pocket-universe and takes Morty’s hand in his, stabbing the needle into the crook of Morty’s elbow. Morty hisses and tries to jerk his arm away but when Rick’s grip tightens Morty knows better than to fight. He depresses the plunger and Morty grimaces in pain.

“It’s okay, Morty,” Rick soothes, “Grandpa’s here…”

“I’m s-sorry,” Morty sniffles. “I...I guess I can’t take the—the bath now.”

“What? C-course you can!” Rick rolls his eyes. “Do I look like a hack, Morty? This serum’s not just for show y-y’know?”

The kid looks down at the way his flesh knits back together, barely leaving a scar in its wake. Rick watches the progress and smiles, pleased, before turning a sterner glare upon Morty.

“You’re _taking_ the bath, Morty,” Rick scolds him. “You smell like… well _you_ after gym class.”

“I don’t smell that bad after gym class, Rick.” Morty says with a pout and Rick hides his own fond smile with a deeper glare.

“Morty, I’ve lived with you. I know how you smell when you have gym fifth period. Now strip.”

* * *

Rick has always been enviably comfortable in his own skin. While not attractive in the most conventional sense, Rick’s ropy muscles and strong confident stature have granted him an imposing and cocksure presence. He was powerful, dangerous, and wasn’t shy about letting everyone in the room know it. Morty has seen Gromflamite mothers cry out in alarm and rip their babies away from Rick’s path. He’s seen men older and bigger than Rick shrink back in fear when Rick glanced their way.

Morty doesn’t necessarily want to be seen as something awful and dangerous like Rick, but when Rick casually strips off his underwear and struts out of the changing area—giving Morty a teasing wink as he does so—Morty can’t help envying Rick’s natural confidence and grace.

He looks down at himself and proceeds with removing his own clothes, unzipping his fly and shirking his pants before turning his attention to his boxers.

“...Oh Morty?”

With an embarrassingly high-pitched squeak, Morty suddenly covers himself with his discarded pants while Rick’s grinning face peeks around the curtained opening to the bathing area.

“Could y—could you bring me a towel and my hip flask when you come in?” Rick gives Morty a cheeky smirk while Morty blushes furiously. Rick turns away and waves a hand in dismissal. “Thanks!”

Morty stands dumb-founded, still stupidly clutching his pants to his crotch while Rick’s taught behind disappears into the steam.

That was so unfair!  
  
Was he—was Rick _trying_ to make Morty bluster about? Clumsy with nerves and self-loathing. He must know by now that Morty’s not exactly comfortable with nudity.

Staring worriedly at the archway and still half-expecting Rick to burst in at any moment, Morty pulls down his boxers and hastily covers his exposed self by knotting a towel around his waist. He seizes a second towel and steels himself before walking through the archway.

The room is _much _bigger than Morty anticipated and he suddenly holds a newfound appreciation for the little white shield-box. The floor is cobblestone, there are four rows of washing stations, complete with tiny wooden stools, encouraging patrons to clean themselves before entering the bath. Each station is complete with a bucket, hand-held shower and a wooden bowl as well as an assortment of complimentary shampoos and soaps. Through the clouds of billowing steam Morty sees the hint of a large round pool surrounded by rock; aside from the echoing call of a trickling waterfall, the room is otherwise completely and comfortably silent.

But it is the ceiling that has Morty mezmerized.

From outside, Morty could not appreciate the gently curved eaves that make the building’s roof. But indoors, the various slats that make up the ceiling are laid bare.

They are not made of stone, as Morty orginally presumed when he first arrived, but an unusual silvery coloured wood that is entirely alien to Morty. The ceiling itself is wooden too, unpainted, but meticulously decorated with painstakingly detailed wood carvings. There are hundreds, maybe thousands, of hand-carved blamphs, Krootabulons, humans, and Gromflamites—strange animals and trees—mountains, rivers, forests—cities, planets, and stars... it’s as though whoever carved the ceiling was trying to depict the universe.

“Over here, Morty,” Rick calls impatiently and Morty rips his gaze away from the awe-inspiring ceiling to see Rick seated at one of the wash-stations.

It’s strange. Beneath the wooden universe and hunched on a stool Rick ought to to appear small, but instead Rick looks as imposing as ever. His silvery blue hair catching the moonlight and granting the illusion of glowing halo. Instead of modest, Rick looks both imposing and thoughtful as he fills the waterbucket and rubs something into his pale hands.

Funny, Morty has always thought of Rick as a demon or maybe a really fucked-up god. But here, bathed in the natural light of the moon and stars, Rick looks downright angelic.

Morty didn’t know Rick young. Before he saw photographs, he couldn’t imagine it. Something about his height... the lanky stride, sad smile, and exhausted eyes seemed unique to being an old man. But then Birdperson showed Morty photographs and Morty saw Rick as a man in his twenties: vivacious, hopeful, and wickedly intelligent. His hair was still that mysterious shade of silver-blue, which Morty had wrongly assumed Rick had earned with age.

Morty approaches Rick who pats a stool in front of him.

“Come, take a seat.”

Morty sits himself down on the stool and Rick drags his own in closer. Morty tenses a moment, uncertain of himself with such closeness between them.

To his surprise, Morty feels Rick’s long fingers raking gently through his hair. The pads of his fingers, pressing firmly into Morty’s scalp and rubbing softly, touching the crown of his head, his temples, and working their way towards the nape of Morty’s neck. It feels good. Though Morty can’t think why his grandfather is doing this. It’s only when the glint of something sharp catches the corner of Morty’s eye that Morty suddenly stiffens.

“Rick? Wh-what are you—? What’s happening?!”

“Relax, Morty.” Rick tuts and brushes back the floppy bits of hair that frame Morty’s face. “I’m just giving you a badly-needed haircut.”

“Oh, y-you think I need one?”

“Is—is that a joke, Morty?” Rick scoffs. “I’ll be the first to tell you that a mullet does not maketh man. N-now, hold still. Quit squirming.”

“I’m not squirming!”

Careful fingers glide up the nape of Morty’s neck and gather a number of strands between two pinched fingers. Morty hears the scissors close over them and then the efficient snipping sound as Rick tidies up his work. Rick continues to roam around Morty’s head, trimming Morty’s mop into short wavy locks.

“Hm...” Rick hums thoughtfully and Morty swallows.

“What?”

“You know you have red in your hair, Morty?”

“I do?”

“Yeah, w-well, you can’t see it ‘cause it’s mostly here at the back, and y-you can only really see it when the light hits it. But yeah, you’ve got some auburn high—highlights in here.”

“Wonder where that came from...” Morty thinks aloud as Rick tilts Morty’s chin up in order to tend to his fringe.

“Y-You mean genetically?” Rick asks.

“Yeah, I mean... Mom’s a blonde. Dad’s got hair like mine...”

Rick makes an ugly noise and Morty raises an eyebrow.

“You’re nothing like him,” Rick says. “You probably inherited your looks from your great-grandmother.”

Morty’s brain feels sluggish in the warm steam and with the way Rick’s fingers keep massaging his scalp between cutting his hair, Morty is surprised he can string his thoughts together while Rick is gives him one _seriously good _scalp massage. But as Morty floats blissfully through the clouds he realizes he has just recieved a notable detail about Rick that he did not know before.

Rick’s mother.

“Is that why Summer’s a red-head?” Morty asks.

“Eh... Summer’s more of a strawberry blonde,” Rick says lightly.

“Oh. Mm...” Morty goes quiet a moment as Rick combs his fingers through Morty’s hair.

“Something wrong?”

“Just... I guess I just realized that I don’t know much about you, Rick. I mean... I keep thinking I do but then I keep finding out things I didn’t know before.”

“Ah.”

“Do... do you think you could tell me something about yourself?” Morty asks Rick. “Something no one else knows?”

There’s silence behind him and Morty hears the clink of metal as Rick puts down the scissors.

“Morty, I don’t really have a baseline here. Y-y-you’re gonna have to be more specific about what you’re looking for. I mean, I could tell you about my first boner or what I was doing during nine-eleven. But I don’t think that’s what you’re looking for.”

Morty frowns at his lap for a moment, thinking carefully about what to ask. A million questions about Rick have buzzed through his mind at some point or another. Why is Rick always so mean? Why did Rick originally choose to take him on adventures? Why did he abandon Mom when she was a kid?

But the question that always drags itself to the forefront is always the same.

* * *

“_Morty,” _Birdperson says curiously, _“do you know what wubba lubba dub dub means?”_

Morty angrily throws a red solo cup and one of the empty beer bottles into the garbage bag. His scowl deepens as Rick groans loudly in his sleep.

“_Oh that’s just Rick’s stupid, nonsense catchphrase.”_

“_It’s not nonsense at all.”_ Birdperson’s deep voice interjects. _“In my people’s tongue it means ‘I am in great pain, please help me.’” _

As he speaks, he approaches Morty, his old wise presence filling the room. But Morty feels no instinct to back away from such an imposing character. It’s funny how Birdperson can be so large and powerful and yet never make Morty feel dwarfed or intimidated. While Rick towered over people, Birdperson’s majestic nature made others feel protected and safe.

When the coffee table has been cleared, Morty raises an incredulous eyebrow at Birdperson.

“_Well I got news for you, he’s saying it ironically.”_

Morty turns. Birdperson follows.

_"No, Morty. Your grandfather is indeed in very deep pain,”_ Birdperson explains patiently. _ “That is why he must numb himself.” _

* * *

If Morty asks, will Rick tell him the reason he is in such pain? He chose to use Birdperson’s language in order to cry for help. Clearly, it is something he wants to hide from other humans.

“Could you tell me,” Morty asks quietly, “why your hair looks like that?”

Rick lets out a roar of harsh laughter and the bathhouse echoes join him. Morty turns to glare at him.

“Wh-wh-what the hell, Rick?!”

“S-_seriously, _Morty?!” Rick snorts. “Out of—out of all the questions you could have asked. Why I invented interdimensional travel, how I discovered the recipe for concentrated dark matter, or where—where I keep finding fucking lab coats in my size? You go ahead and ask me why my hair looks like this? Fucking hell, Morty!” Rick continues cackling. “W-well at least I know you’re the real deal and I’m not in a simulation.”

“Huh?”

“Okay, Morty,” Rick wipes away a tear and picks up the soap, in order to run it between his fingers and work up a lather. “If you’re really that curious, I had a little accident when I was a kid. I went into Chem Lab and decided to experiment with some some Kalaxian Hydrenaline. It’s supposed to be harmless. Unfortunately, no one told me that I was mixing it with tap water that contained fluoride. In case you hadn’t noticed, Morty, most of my miscalculations only occur when _somebody_ doesn’t provide all the relevant data.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. So I didn’t tell you Jessica had the ‘flu.”

“So, yeah,” Rick waves a soapy hand as he talks, “there was an explosion.”

“You were caught in an explosion?” Morty exclaims. Rick suddenly drags his stool closer to Morty’s and begins rubbing sudsy fingers up and down Morty’s arms.

“Morty, I’m a scientist and a genius. As soon as I realized there was going to be an explosion, do you think I sat there twiddling my thumbs? No way, baby. I high-tailed it out of there!”

“Wh-what happened to everyone else?”

“I pulled the fire-alarm, Morty. I’m a psychopath but—y’know—I’m not _rude_.”

“Jeezus...”

“So everyone in the Stevenson building started panicking when all this blue smoke started billowing out of the Chem Lab and some eleven-year-old kid was sprinting past their classrooms screaming his lungs out about imminent blue doom. I was the only one who got out in time. Everyone else was killed.”

“Holy crap Rick. Th-that’s insane!”

“Yeah, but I inhaled a _bunch_ of that smoke, Morty. And it messed with my genes. It turned my hair bright blue and for some reason it also stopped me growing facial hair. My dream of growing a soul-patch was killed that afternoon, Morty.”

“Did you try and dye it?” Morty asks but Rick shakes his head.

“I killed a building full of people when I was eleven years old, Morty. There are _trees _with more remorse than me. I’m not gonna hide what I am. I’m a freak of nature, Morty. An unholy thing that science can’t fix or kill.” Rick’s tone has gone soft and sad, he gently strokes up Morty’s arms and runs his fingers down Morty’s back.

“I’ve always liked it, Rick,” Morty says quietly. “It’s unique.”

“Everybody’s unique, Morty,” Rick says dismissively, moving his hands up to massage Morty’s shoulders. “Jeez, you are seriously fucking tense. Wh-what the hell do—do you have to be so tense about, Morty?”

“Aw jeez...” Morty glances away, ashamed. But Rick gives his bare shoulder an affectionate squeeze and Morty glances back, blinking stupidly through the steam.

“Th-that was a serious—_herp!—_s-serious question, Morty,” Morty can hear the eye-roll in Rick’s voice. “C’mon,” Rick swats him affectionately, “what’s wrong?”

“Um...”

Where to begin?

“I’m worried about my family,” Morty explains.

“Pssh! Who wouldn’t be in your situation?” Rick says, bored.

“Yeah, g-good point,” Morty agrees. “But um... I guess I don’t think I’m—I’m really worried about them as much as I should be? Y’know? I think about them. Sometimes. But if I really cared, sh-shouldn’t I be thinking about them every night? Shouldn’t every moment and every thought be spent trying to figure out where they are? Instead I’m... I’m just...”

“Enjoying yourself?”

Rick’s hands travel to the nape of Morty’s neck and begin massaging a knot of muscle that Morty wasn’t aware of.

“Mm... _yeah..._” Morty doesn’t mean it to come out as a sigh of pleasure, but Rick’s touch is mesmerizing.

“Morty, y-y-you’re in a new place, doing things no other human being has done before. E-even me,” Rick explains. “You have a goal, and that’s great ‘n all. But you’re not letting a destination distract you from what’s right in front of you. Th-there’s nothing _wrong_ with that, Morty. Jeez.”

“Th-there isn’t?”

“Nah. Why? You worried you’re becoming a sociopath like your old man here?” Rick’s tone is light, but there’s a darkness lingering behind it. Morty tenses and tries to collect his thoughts.

His go-to response is _no, _but it isn’t the most honest.

“I’m... worried I’m not prioritising things in… in a way that coincides with the morals w-with which I… I was raised,” Morty stumbles through the sentence. “I know… I know that sounds dumb.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Huh?” Morty frowns. “B-buh—but Rick, y-you said that right and wrong were subjective.”

“Yeah, and I was right,” Rick transfers his hands to the top of Morty’s head and he begins gently kneading at his scalp, working a lather of sweet-scented shampoo into Morty’s roots. “But, Morty, that doesn’t mean _your_ subjective doesn’t mean something to _you. _Doing things or prioritising issues in an order that clashes with your planetary moralistic mindset probably feels like biting into chocolate and tasting a hamburger.”

It feels a lot less comfortable than that, though Morty keeps that thought to himself.

“Look, _Morty_, I’m not gonna tell you that your subjective moral compass isn’t arbitrary as fuck. I’m not gonna tell you I sympathise or that I even care. But.. it’s important to you. That's what matters right now. And so it’s no wonder you’re undergoing some kind of existential torment be-because of it.”

“I...” Morty isn’t sure what to make of such a charitable response. He takes a moment to wrap his tongue around the feelings he wants to express but Rick’s kneading Morty’s back muscles again and Morty’s drawing a blank.

“Thank you,” Morty whispers, finally.

“Yeah, whatever, Morty.”

“I...” Morty frowns and bites his lip. “I feel _guilty, _I guess. I really enjoy spending time with you, Rick. I like travelling with—with you...”

“_Morty,_” Rick sighs, exasperated, “you’re not a bad person for enjoying the thrill of an adventure. Wh-why do you think _I _keep doing it?”

“That’s not… not what I meant,” Morty explains. “I… I love you, Rick.”

There’s an awkward pause where Rick’s soothing strokes suddenly stop, only to resume again with a slightly brisker pace.

“Pfft. Duh!” Rick snorts. “Of course you do, _Morty, _I’m your Grandpa and I’m awesome.”

“No I mean...” Morty wonders if Rick is being deliberately obtuse. Worrying at his bottom lip, Morty decides to try again. “I like it, Rick. Wh-when we do stuff—y’know—wh-when you touch me and stuff.”

This has Rick stopping completely.

“What?” Then Rick stammers, “i-in what way? In what way?”

“Like… like this. And when you—when you let me suck you off last night, and when we’re kissing and—”

“—and?”

“And I feel k-kinda guilty. ‘Cause it feels good. And I’m not so sure that it… that it should. I guess?” Morty frowns at the hands he has clasped in his lap. “S-sorry, Rick, I know I’m not explaining it well.”

Rick coughs awkwardly. “N-no, it’s okay. Morty. It’s fine, I get it.”

“Should I feel guilty, Rick?” Morty asks.

“Why are you asking me?”

“I don’t know.”

Rick sighs and runs a finger down the length of Morty’s spine. Morty shivers.

“Morty, just because you enjoy something dirty it doesn’t make it clean. But that also doesn’t make it evil,” Rick explains. “Your pleasures don’t define you, your choices do. If you enjoy it when I touch you, then you should let me touch you.”

Morty smiles.

“But don’t attach meaning where there isn’t one,” Rick warns abruptly. “This is just your typical, hardcore casual sex. _Ehh_-emphasis on the—on the _casual_, Morty. You’re a Sometimes Food.”

Casual.

Morty doesn’t quite understand, yet something inside of him feels tight with hurt. Rick seems to sense his confusion.

“What I’m saying, Morty, is that I’m a man who always has access to the things he wants. I fucked those chicks at the Penthouse, Morty, I fucked your Dad’s ex girlfriend—wh-what was her name again?”

“Kiara?”

“Yeah, her. I fuck a lot of people, Morty. A_ lot_ of people. And I guess now I’m also a creep who likes to get sexual with his favourite grandkid.”

Morty feels Rick’s nose and lips trailing delicately down the side of his neck before Rick’s tongue darts out and laps up some of the stray moisture that clings to the side of Morty’s throat. Morty shudders with pleasure.

“Mmm...” Rick purrs, “I never claimed to be a good person.”

“No,” Morty agrees quietly, “you never did.”

“Begs the question really, doesn’t it Morty?” Rick grins against Morty’s hot skin, reaching around him to hold him playfully by the throat. Morty tenses. “Why did I resist for so long?”

“Because,” says Morty evenly, feeling a little vindictive, “even you have a planetary mindset, Rick.”

He feels Rick’s forehead furrow. “Wh-what? No I don’t.”

“Sometimes you do,” Morty smiles sadly, “like when you decide you don’t want to touch me or when you feel guilty—”

Rick scoffs. “I don’t feel _guilty_, Morty. Jeez! I just don’t wanna deal with the consequences.” Rick’s tone lowers as he nuzzles Morty’s neck again. “Mm...get your head outta your ass.”

“Or when you have to get black-out drunk in order to handle seeing me in pain.”

Rick’s gone still again.

“I-I’m right, aren’t I?” Morty asks.

“It’s complicated,” Rick says flatly. “Let’s leave it at that.”

Choosing to preserve his lover’s dignity, Morty nods. “Alright Rick. Let’s leave it at that.”

Rick soaps up his hands again and Morty feels his careful fingers press experimentally at the wounds on his back. Morty grits his teeth.

“Does that hurt, Morty?” Rick asks.

“Yeah, a little.” Morty cofesses. “Listen, um, that serum you injected me with?”

“Yeah?”

“How come it can heal some stuff but not others?” Morty asks curiously, “y’know? It healed my arms but not the wounds on my back.”

“I assume it depends a bit on what got you and how bad the damage is,” Rick says with a shrug. “Birdpeople have a natural-occuring lubricant on their talons that is near-fatal to humans. S-similar to the way leeches inject their hosts with an anticoagulant, it stops the wound from naturally healing on its own.”

“Oh god...” Morty murmurs but Rick’s arms constrict around him suddenly and Morty feels Rick’s chest pressed against his back.

“Which is why...” Rick whispers, his voice tight, “...I put an antidote in your beer bottle last night.”

“Oh. Aw jeez, Rick. Y-you could have just told me.”

“I didn’t want to risk you refusing to taking it,” Rick says quietly. “You were gonna bleed out if I didn’t intervene fast.”

“I...” Morty begins but suddenly talking feels cheap. Rick’s holding him tight against his chest, his face pressed against the side of Morty’s neck. There’s something uncharacteristically desperate about it, as though Rick might fall apart if he lets Morty go. So Morty stays still and silent and lets Rick cling to him. 

Finally, after the silence has stretched on long enough, Rick lets go of Morty. He rubs his hair affectionately and stands up.

"I'll be in the bath," Rick says flatly and Morty listens to Rick's footfalls slowly fade away.


	7. Zero II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I do apologize for the long hiatus between chapters. It was not my intention to make you all wait. My other chapters are a bit more polished so hopefully my update schedule will be more prompt from here on out. 
> 
> And of course, I adore you all! Thank you everyone for your comments and encouragement.

I never let on, that I was on a sinking ship  
I never let on that I was down  
You blame yourself, for what you can't ignore  
You blame yourself for wanting more

—Smashing Pumpkins, "Zero"

* * *

Rick leaves Morty to pack up their space by the washing station, choosing to soak his tired muscles in the main bath. 

Morty had felt tense under Rick’s skilled hands but Rick’s own tension is something else. He’s felt this way for months. Maybe even years. And his conversation with Morty has left his muscles screaming.

He lied. He lied over and over and over. And then Morty kept working at him and slowly teased out the strands of truth that wove the lies together.

Of  _course_ Rick can’t stand to see Morty in pain. Each time he witnessed it, he suddenly empathized with all the other elderly men in the world who suffered heart problems. 

Rick opens his beer and leans back against the side of the bath, tilting his head up to admire the arching ceiling. A timid wet sound catches his attention and he immediately looks across to where Morty is hovering uncertainly at the edge of the bath.

“Come here, Morty,” Rick orders and Morty humours him by dipping a cautious toe into the water.

As Rick predicted, the water responds to Morty’s touch the same way it did for him. Ripples of blue luminescence emanate from where the water meets Morty’s flesh. Morty draws his foot back with a gasp.

“Relax, Morty. It’s not—it’s not dangerous,” Rick lounges back where he sits and tries not to laugh at Morty’s trepidation. “The water is drawn from a natural hot spring containing a substance that has a chemoluminescent reaction to anything colder than it. In—in other words, Morty, the colder you are, the more it glows. Come get warm.”

Morty looks shyly at Rick and Rick gets it. He turns his back on the kid and hears the apologetically light splashing of Morty entering the bath. He wades over to where Rick sits and parks himself down on the ledge next to him. 

To Rick’s surprise, Morty doesn’t lie back like he does. Instead, Morty tucks his legs into himself and clutches his fists near his head in a pose resembling the foetal position. Looking at him, dark head bowed and eyes closed, with the waves of glowing blue light radiating from his nakedness, Rick is reminded of a glowing fallen angel. Rick takes a swig of beer and looks away, something about the image bothers him and he isn't sure why.

Morty draws in a shuddering breath and emits a small whimper of pain and Rick stills, the rim of the flask still poised at his lips, before reaching out to gingerly pet Morty’s hair.

Morty looks up, large brown eyes wide and startled.

“You alright?” Rick asks curiously. 

Morty gives a sharp nod. “J-Just cold.”

Rick’s attention is suddenly drawn to the blue glow that surrounds Morty and is unnerved to find it is almost white. He presses the back of his hand against Morty’s cheek. The kid’s cold as ice.

“Jesus,” Rick breathes, “you’re freezing, Morty. Why didn’t you speak up earlier?”

Morty doesn’t answer and Rick clicks his teeth crossly. 

“C’mere.”

“Huh?”

“I said come _here, _Morty. Come on," Rick rolls his eyes, "I’m not gonna bite you,” in a slow tender movement, Rick gathers the kid into his arms—luckily Morty was in the perfect position for it—and pulls Morty onto his waiting lap.

Rick rubs Morty’s arms and legs soothingly. 

“Must hurt,” Rick says a little more tersely than intended, “in the hot water, y-y’know?”

“Maybe a little,” Morty agrees, “b-but it’s not so bad now.”

Rick smiles.

“You’re a good kid, Morty.” Rick surprises both of them by saying. “J-Just let me warm you up a bit.”

Rick hums under his breath as he rubs Morty's no-doubt stinging arms and legs, watching Morty's pinched expression slowly relax. Eventually Morty leans into Rick's chest and lets out a small contented sigh.

“I don’t think I kn-know you Rick,” he says finally as Rick continues ministering to his still-cold extremities. “You can be so cruel, so mean. I mean... the way you—the way you talk to my Dad—”

“M-Morty, I _really_ don’t wanna talk about Jerry right now,” Rick says sharply. 

Morty stills and Rick immediately regrets his harsh tone.

“—and then the next minute, you’re so nice to me.” Morty continues. “I... I don’t think I understand.”

_(Of course he doesn’t) _

That petulant voice whispers in the back of Rick’s mind and Rick swallows back something thick and unpleasant.

“I’m a dick because I’m the smartest person in the universe, Morty. And being nice is just something stupid people do to hedge their bets.”

“You’re nice some of the time,” Morty points out.

“I’m polite when it profits me, Morty. But overall, people don’t take their opinions with them when they die. And that’s what happens to everyone, Morty—they _die._”

“Right.” Morty sounds unimpressed with the explanation.

_(You’re indifferent to the opinions of others, with one pretty notable exception.)_

_Shut up!_

_(You save the best and the worst of yourself for him.)_

“Do you think...” Morty asks tentatively, “after we’ve found my parents and sister, w-we could leave again?”

Rick frowns. 

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“I mean...” Morty swallows and then looks Rick in the eye, “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life on earth. I don’t want to go to college or get a job or get married. Can—can we leave, Rick? For good?”

Is Morty really offering this?

“Once w-we’re sure Mom and Dad and Summer are safe again, of course.”

Is he seriously making the final, uncompromising decision to drop out of school and become Rick’s full-time side-kick. No, no not side-kick—Morty’s stronger now and quick and a hell of a good shot—Rick’s...  _Companion._

_(That’s a real cute way of saying Grandson With Benefits.)_

“M-Maybe we should wait—” Rick says numbly. “Uh-until you’re eighteen.”

“But I am eighteen, Rick.”

“What?!” Rick sputters. “Wha-wh-when—when did that happen?”

“My birthday was two weeks ago.”

“You... why didn’t you tell me?”

“Aw jeez, Rick. I dunno. It’s not that important really, is it?”

Morty shifts in his seat and turns to face Rick front-on. Rick’s breath locks somewhere deep in his center and Morty looks at him in a way that has Rick fighting a swelling feeling that strongly reminds him of wings unfurling. 

_The best and the worst..._

Morty runs a hand up Rick’s arm and shuffles off Rick’s lap in order to reach around and gently massage Rick’s shoulder blades. 

“I’m guessing we’re not allowed to use soap in the tub,” Morty says quietly. 

Suddenly unwilling to speak, Rick shakes his head in confirmation.

“D-Do you mind this anyway?”

Rick nods and feels Morty’s timid fingers trailing over his shoulders and then down his back, massaging where they can. Morty doesn’t know anatomy, doesn’t understand the intricacies of teasing the knots from another person’s muscles. But something about Morty’s clear desire to help has Rick’s insides tingling pleasantly. 

Rick takes Morty’s hand in his, stilling him, and brings it in front of him in order to dip it beneath the water.

"Your hands are still cold, Morty," he says quietly. "Lets keep you warm."

He carefully but firmly guides him so the boy is on his feet before him. He reaches up his other hand and places it reassuringly on Morty’s naked shoulder, rising slowly from the ledge and gliding closer to Morty.

The boy has become beautiful. There’s no pretending otherwise.  His wet hair is sticking to his forehead but even flat it doesn’t look half bad. Rick has to admit he did a good job. The only real question is when. When did Morty stop being a kid and turn into this?

Rick’s hand leaves Morty’s shoulder and traces down Morty’s flank to rest on the boy’s hip, he drags himself closer, their faces inches apart.

“Gonna kiss you now, Morty.”

Morty gulps and then nods.

Rick leans in and sucks Morty’s bottom lip into his mouth. He toys with it playfully between his own lips before he finally sinks down to consume Morty’s mouth.

Morty sighs with satisfaction and Rick continues, mouthing unashamed at Morty’s hot and wet mouth while Morty responds with the most delicious sounds Rick’s ever heard. Rick brings a hand up to cup Morty's cheek and steer him into the kiss, while simultaneously bringing their bodies closer together. When they have both run out of breath, Rick focuses his attention on Morty’s neck, dragging his tongue over Morty’s throbbing artery and drawing out a gasp.

“Do you mind?” Rick asks kindly and Morty shakes his head.

Rick chuckles against the warm flesh and allows his teeth to softly graze Morty’s skin. Despite the hot steam surrounding them and warming them, the act still earns him some stray goose-pimples and an all-body shiver.

That’s about as much permission as Rick feels like asking for. He pistol-grips Morty’s chin and angles it skyward, exposing the boy’s throat. Rick leans in, pressing his tongue against the exposed flesh, allowing a quick taste before Ricks mouth closes over the area and sucks.

Morty, in return, emits a soft keening sound and seems to melt in front of Rick. Rick’s arms raise up on instinct and before he knows it, he’s holding a limp Morty upright while he continues to mark the boy’s throat with possessive bruises. When Rick finally pulls himself away, Morty stares up at him with an adorably surprised look on his face and Rick smiles indelicately, casually brushing a wisp of wet hair away from Morty's flushed face.

“Still with me?”

Morty nods weakly. 

“I didn’t think you’d react like... _that._” Rick chuckles. 

Morty looks away, his cheeks stained red.

“Aw jeez, me neither.”

Rick sits back down on the bench, guiding Morty with him so the kid is balanced delicately on Rick’s lap. Rick can’t help himself with the so close and willing and inviting. The sounds he’s making... that damn  _look_ on his stupid face. Tilting his head back, Rick wraps his fingers around his own dick and starts pumping beneath the surface of the water. Funny, a year ago and he'd have felt bad about this. He'd have thought it was obscene. Now, well... it was just a symptom of their casually indecent relationship.

_ (Bastard. Can't you see what's happening?) _

There’s a soft, surprisingly lewd, splashing sound as the warm water licks at Rick’s exposed chest. The blue glow softens as he becomes more aroused and when Rick looks back down, Morty is staring up at him. His bright brown eyes are huge. the glow from the water causing them to light up like gold. Rick sighs and almost flinches when a small brave hand wraps around his length. Rick’s own hand wraps around Morty’s fingers and together they continue.

God _damn! _ It feels phenomenal. Morty’s fingers, Morty’s touch, Morty’s presence. It’s crazy to think that such a timid kid could be so filthy when he offered himself like this and Rick’s heart gives a leap when the words  _He’s actually letting me..._ float through his frazzled overstimulated mind. The only thing better than this would be Morty’s mouth. No, the only thing better would be something altogether more intimate.

Rick lets out a groan and decides it’s time to be maybe just a _little _altruistic. He reaches around for Morty's ass and pulls their bodies flush against one another, allowing his own pulsing erection to slide against Morty's—

But instead of an enthusiastic gasp or a moan of desire, Morty flinches.

Rick freezes. Unsure of what to say, he simply murmurs a quiet “oh.”

His stomach sinks. Was Morty even hard in the first place?

For the millionth time throughout their awkward relationship, Rick realizes he is taking without realizing and Morty is giving without thinking. Morty would probably let Rick fuck him right here in the bath if Rick wanted to. He might struggle—at least a little—because bath sex always fucking hurts. But he would ultimately submit and let it happen.

Sickened, Rick withdraws his hand from Morty’s limp dick and places both hands awkwardly on his own thighs. His arousal still stands strong and undeterred by the discovery. Rick looks away and purses his lips. It’d go down if it weren’t for the boy currently seated between his legs.

“Rick?” Morty asks.

“Hm.”

“I s-said I’m worried about my family,” Morty says quietly. “You know, _you’re _my family too.”

Rick’s brow furrows in what could be concentration or annoyance. He isn’t sure which.

“You’re worried about me?” Rick says blankly. “Why?” But before Morty can reply Rick interrupts sharply. “You’re aware, of course, that _you’re_ the one who keeps dissociating. _You’re _the one who keeps cutting themselves. _You’re _the one who _I _keep having to rescue.”

“Rick...”

“What?” Rick snaps.

“I just wanted to tell you, Rick. I care.”

Yeah, and  _that’s_ the goddamn problem. 

Rick eases Morty off his lap and ignores the confused, concerned look on his grandson’s face. It’s a look that has become way too commonplace. He isn’t sure if he’d recognize Morty’s neutral expression anymore.

“’m gunna get dressed,” Rick mumbles. Practically shoving Morty away from him and leaving as quickly as possibleas, collecting his towel and hip flask on the way.

Morty says something as Rick leaves but he doesn’t hear it. He takes a hearty swig from his flask before he reaches the locker room. He dries off and dresses in silence before finally slumping down on the bench, his erection still drawing his attention. He shoves his now empty flask into the pocket of his lab coat and heaves a sigh.

He can’t help it. Morty occupies every thought, every instinct. He’s the first thought that wakes him and he’s the dream that gives him relief. 

Rick unbuckles his belt and pulls out his still persistently hard cock, stroking it tenderly for a moment before gripping it harshly—almost punishingly—in order to yank himself to release. 

Morty complaining. Morty’s eyes filling with tears. Morty being so bad at lying it’s almost comical. Morty glaring at him with near-adorable indigence. Morty whining about how Rick can't call people this or that because of some politically corr—

Rick lets out a hiss which morphs into an obscene groan.  Why does the little brat have such an effect on him? 

Morty smiling. Morty laughing. Morty staring up at him with adoration and kindness and concern. Morty smirking as Rick verbally rips into someone. Morty fist-bumping him after an adventure.

Rick groans again, remembering Morty's slender hands wrapped around his length. He bites his lip and continues.

_ "Oh I've got pubes commander-in-queef, wanna count 'em?" _

_ "Where's the real Rick? Probably fucking your mom somewhere. Yes I fucking said it Flom-Flom, now hand me that screwdriver!" _

_ "Yeah, I'd call you a moron if my Dad weren't in the room." _

_ "You like that? You want me to cut to three weeks earlier when you were alive?" _

No longer caring about being heard, Rick comes with an echoing moan. Panting, he grips his cock firmly as it steadily grows more flaccid, keeping himself from dribbling all over his trousers. 

He closes his eyes to avoid looking at the mess he has made.

“Dirty little bastard,” he mutters under his breath.

* * *

Morty sits alone in the bath. How did it all go so wrong so fast? 

_Rick’s complicated, _ he reminds himself. But he’s not satisfied with that. 

A strictly casual relationship was what Rick said he wanted. Morty bites his bottom lip. It isn’t perfect but...

_But what did you really expect? _ Morty asks himself.  _He’s a Rick._

“And I’m a Morty,” Morty says to the empty bathhouse. He closes his mouth immediately. Talking to himself suddenly feels embarrassing and childish.

Morty hugs himself warm for a couple of moments before finally standing to get out of the tub. 


	8. City

_Somewhere out on that horizon  
Faraway from the neon sky  
I know there must be somethin' better  
But there's nowhere else in sight  
_

—Eagles, "In The City"

* * *

Rick had originally insisted that Morty confine himself to the motel. He was not to leave under any circumstances unless Rick was with him. And he was not to answer the door to anyone.

Well...that plan lasts about as long as Rick’s patience.

Perhaps it is Morty’s relentless whining. After being able to explore the cosmos ad infinitum, he swiftly becomes restless in his dingy motel prison.

Or perhaps it is because Rick suddenly feels like sending Morty out to buy snack foods from the local convenience store, which Morty obediently does every time Rick gets high. Of course, a high Rick means an unobservant Rick, which means Morty can get away with dawdling a little on his way back to the motel. He stops by the dumpster where he saw the creature on his first day in Grippernips and throws a couple of crumbs towards it. Occasionally, if Morty is patient, he sees whiskery nose peek out tentatively and sniff at Morty’s offering.

Nevertheless, when Rick has had enough of Morty clawing the walls and decides Morty can come with him on a journey through the city, Morty almost jumps for joy. He almost knocks the door down in his haste before Rick swiftly stops him.

“You gotta do as I say though, Morty,” Rick warns him. “You can’t wander off. Stay near me.”

“Yeah, yeah, I will Rick.” Morty says dismissively.

“I mean it!” Rick says sternly. “This place has everything in it. Trust no one and stay close.”

Walking through Grippernips is a different experience with a guide.

“See that, Morty?” Rick says excitedly, pointing at a store advertising deep-fried tentacles with _Cellphone Sauce_, “oh—_ohhpf—_on my life, Morty, that is the best takeout place in the galaxy right there.”

“Really, Rick?”

“Well, _this_ galaxy. Oh! Oh and hey, Morty, you gotta see this. There’s a Muusoh Wrestling match on in a couple of days, we should go. Y-You’d love Muusoh wrestling, seriously!”

Morty scratches his head. “So is it, like, two Muusohs duking it out?”

“Nah, nah, Muusoh is a kind of martial art. Real difficult to master too but any species can learn the basics if they have a collapsible skeleton!”

“What?!”

“Ohhh! Morty! _Morty!_” Morty has to sprint to keep up with Rick who is now practically skipping towards a muted neon sign. Morty frowns. The club is called Aletheia and it doesn’t look any different from any of the other surrounding night clubs during the day but Rick is excitedly bouncing on the balls of his feet upon seeing the sign and he turns a delighted face to Morty. “This place! W-we gotta check this place out. _Tonight, _Morty! We’re gonna fuck—fuckin’ come here tonight!”

“Why? What’s so great about Aletheia?”

“Three things, Morty. First, your old grandpa has an aquaintence here who constantly has a thumb on this city’s pulse. If he doesn’t know who kidnapped your parents, Morty, he’ll at least point me in the right direction. And the _second,_” Rick grins, “is the best karaoke bar in the motherfucking universe, baby!”

“Aw jeez, Rick. I... But I can’t—”

“They have Get Shwifty, Morty!” Rick suddenly seizes Morty’s shoulders. “Remember Get Shwifty from Season Two? A-And they have the _entire_ White Album. Plus y’know that really risque Lindsay Lohan song from her R-rated musical Hammer Down? That’s in...we have that in our universe, right? Or is that N-72Δ?” Rick continues chattering excitedly as he continues to praise all the great things about Aletheia. Apparently it is a Host Club and Grippernips is full of them, but this one is evidently Rick’s favourite.

Morty only half-listens, vaguely aware of yet another oncoming dizzy spell. He looks across the street and nudges Rick who startles out of his reverie with an annoyed grunt.

“Hey Rick,” Morty says, pointing across the road. “Wh-what’s that thing?”

“That? That’s a shrine, Morty. It’s a religious thing.”

It was hard to imagine a city like Grippernips ever having religion.

“Oh yeah,” Rick nods when he sees Morty’s confused face. “That’s just a little one though. But religion here, Morty, it’s uhh... it’s different. You see, on Floopynaps the power of divinity and the power of influence and industry are seen as pretty much the same thing. And so, basically...”

Morty gasps as Rick steers him around the corner, bringing him into the shadow of a towering monstrous statue.

“...people worship corporations as though they are gods.”

“H-Holy...holy shit, Rick!”

“Hit the nail on the head, Morty.”

The statue is several feet high and made of white stone. It looks like a demented god or possibly an upper-level demon. The beast has wings—four of them—though all four are tucked into itself as it sits regally upon its white throne. Its hands and torso are both human though thousands of unblinking eyes adorn the creature’s chest and shoulders. Instead of feet, Morty sees cloven hooves, and protruding from the seat of the throne and coiled around the entrance to the temple that lies between the monster’s legs, is a lion’s tail. But possibly the most unnerving thing of all is the fact that the creature’s head is entirely missing. Where a fearsome face might have been there was empty space, with the statue ending at the creature’s neck.

“Wh-what is that thing?”

“Izroth. Grippernips headquarters. Heh—” Rick snickers and Morty bristles, “though _head_quarters seem a little inaccurate.”

Morty feels an overwhelming need to scold Rick for his blase irreverent attitude towards something that clearly means a lot to the local populace. But before he can open his mouth, he frowns, confused at his own reaction to the statue. After all, why would Morty be bothered by someone snickering at a god he did not believe in?

Hell, Rick_ just said_ that the gods worshiped on Floopynaps are just corporations. Izroth is no doubt just that: a big company that sells soft-drinks or cars or video streaming. Most likely, all of the above.

Nevertheless, Morty feels a sudden unease about standing in the god’s shadow and hastily backs away. They round another corner and then Morty freezes dead in his tracks.

“Uh...Rick?”

“Holy shitballs!” Rick suddenly says excitedly, “McDonalds! This is why I picked this place, Morty! Fucking, _jack pot!”_

“Rick!” Morty gasps and Rick’s gleeful expression evaporates when he sees Morty’s face.

“Ugh. What is it?”

Morty points and Rick looks up, his eyes widen in surprise.

Similar to the statue of Izroth is a giant statue of _Rick. _The stone scientist is seated in a lazy position atop a stone throne, his head tilted arrogantly to one side as it rests upon a clenched fist. His other hand dangles on the side of the throne, loosely holding his trademark hip flask.

“Well hey,” Rick suddenly grins, “you always wondered if there was a god, Morty. Now you know.”

“Never wondered that, Rick.” Morty says coldly. “But Rick, how did— I mean why is—” Morty shakes his head. “Oh god...”

“H-hey don’t take my name in vain,” Rick teases.

“That’s _you!_” Morty gapes. “I mean... is it you? _You-_you I mean, not another version of you.”

“Eh,” Rick looks at one of the information plaques in front of the statue, “looks like this one was cooked up by my annoying doppelganger. But that’s ay-okay with me! I’m still gonna get credit!”

Morty’s jaw drops.

“Heads up, Morty. Worshipers!”

“Oh great Sanchez,” a very tiny Blamph murmurs before taking Rick’s hand and kissing it. “Too long we have awaited your return.”

“Sup!” Rick smirks.

“We must say, the Greternersnatch-Mortimer takeover was ingenious your grace. Oh! My apologies, I know you prefer the term _merger. _Would you like to discuss the details of the Sanchez Intergalactic Highway? I’d be happy to arrange a meeting if you are dissatisfied with the files we sent to the Northern Office.”

Rick shrugs.

“Nah, s’all good, bro. Just, know, is it getting built? Looking good? No obstacles in the way?”

“It is going most excellently your excellent excellency!”

“Niiice!” Rick takes out his hip flask and drains it. The blamph asks more questions which Morty ignores and then finally bids Rick a triumphant farewell before scurrying up the staircase to the main temple.

“You’re getting off on this aren’t you?” Morty accuses once the blamph is out of earshot.

“Eh. Maybe a little. So I enjoy knowing that there’s a hoarde of idiots clambering over one another to suck my dick. If I’d known Sanchez IndustriesTM was here, I’d have visited a lot earlier. H-hey, maybe we can get a fancy hotel, Morty. Would you like that, Morty? One with—one with one of those private bathrooms I told you about?”

“I thought you said we shouldn’t draw attention to ourselves.”

“That was _before_ I knew there was a big stone statue of me in the town center. Will you lighten up already? Sheesh!”

Morty looks away for a moment before narrowing his eyes thoughtfully.

“What highway was he talking about?”

“No idea.”

“You know, this corporation could be evil, Rick. Th-that highway could be going through a nature reserve or... or a retirement village—”

“Or it could be doing the most statistically likely thing, _Morty,_ and be going through empty unused space. Jeez, will you quit being a pill and _enjoy _this?”

“What if that other Rick shows up?”

“Then _good! _I told him not to approach me again. If he does, he’s pretty much killing himself and I bear no responsibility.”

“That’s horrible!”

“I know right? Suicide’s a terrible thing.”

“You’re unbelievable, Rick.”

“Well, _Morty,_” Rick says smugly, “there’s a bunch of chanting believers up there who beg to differ. Anyway, you can sit here and be miserable all you like. I’m going to McDonalds.”

Morty glares at the back of Rick’s head as he turns and flounces away. He’s only gone for a moment before a familiar flash of yellow catches Morty’s eye. His attention locks on the individual and he’s only mildly unnerved to see _himself_ walking briskly through the crowds and then disappearing between two buildings.

Morty steals a glance at Rick who seems thoroughly distracted and chooses to follow his doppelganger. He steers into the alley behind the kid and eventually follows him around a corner to find a door slamming shut, as though someone has just dashed through it. Morty tentatively opens the door and peers inside.

Morty was half-expecting (i.e. dreading) to run into the other Morty’s malicious Rick but instead he finds a small cramped room full of small bedraggled-looking children. All are either sitting cross-legged on the dingy orange carpet or perched atop the windowsill or old office desks. Each one is dressed in rags or some assortment of odd clothing.

It is only now that Morty realizes the entire time he has been in Grippernips he has not seen a single child. Obviously, they must be around. But seeing so many young children in one place is weirdly unnerving. Just before Morty can duck back out through the door a voice cries out to him:

“Brother Mutey!”

Morty freezes.

The voice came from one of the slightly better dressed children who is now approaching Morty with an uncomfortably wide smile and open arms. Morty looks up at him and frowns.

“Sorry,” Morty replies. “You’ve got the wrong person.”

“Well,” the boy carries on undeterred, “you certainly do not have the wrong place, Brother. Please, enter. The sermon is about to begin.”

Morty pauses. He really shouldn’t, after all. There’s only so long that Rick will remain distracted.

“I’ll stay for a little while,” Morty replies. “But then I’d better get going.”

The boy chuckles knowingly and Morty bristles indignantly. He sits down on the floor next to the boy but makes sure he is as close to the door as possible. 

A tall boy--though clearly no older than seventeen--near the front of the room then raises to his full height and clears his throat.

“Siblings,” he declares. “I preach to you, not as your leader but as your brother. Today I suggest to you that you no longer view yourselves as the creatures held and controlled by your elders. You are not pets, you are not slaves, you are your_selves._”

There is a collective murmur of agreement throughout the room, which makes Morty blush with embarrassment.

“Your individuality is not some disability that must be snuffed out or stifled, it is a _gift, _brothers and sisters and it is the guiding light that will steer you onto the path of progress. We shall not simply survive, we shall _live. _We owe it to ourselves to shine like stars. Our gods live as we allow them to live. Nothing shall perish so long as we stand.”

More nodding heads join the first with a couple of whispered _“Amens” _for good measure.

“Remember our ancient warning, past onto us from The One: Et puer puero perit.”

Morty nearly jumps out of his skin when the entire congregation responds in unison:

“Senex Manet!”

Then the boy standing at the front bows his head and lifts the palms of his hands as though in offering.

“This is how the universe ends.”

Morty frowns at the strange words. It’s an odd choice for a mantra and a weird philosophy. When he can find a moment, he quietly ducks out of the room and back out into the alleyway. It doesn’t take long to find Rick in the crowd. He’s standing at the front of the queue at the McDonalds and sounds pissed.

“Look, bud, th-the sign says every flavour! Wh-what do you—what do you mean you don’t have it?”

“Gag’habla gablaga!” shouts the spiney grey alien behind the counter and Morty cringes when Rick slams his palms down on the table.

“Fine!” Rick glares. “I’ll take a normal ten piece McNuggets meal with _barbecue _sauce.” The alien rings him up and Rick tuts something about false advertising under his breath.

“They ran out, huh?”

“So it would seem. You want anything?”

“Nah, I’m good. Hey Rick?”

“Yeah?”

Rick takes his tray and the pair of them walk over to an empty table. Morty sits down across from Rick and silently twiddles his thumbs while Rick slurps his thickshake.

“There are a few weird religions round here, right?”

“Weird is one way to put it.”

“Have you ever heard of a Grippernips religion that was all kids?”

Rick frowns. “None I can think of.”

“Okay, just... I think I ran into one. It didn’t seem to be connected to any business or corporation or anything. It was just a bunch of kids sitting around.”

“Ran into—” Rick suddenly glares. “Morty don’t...I told you not to wander off here, damn it! Do you know what your—what your mom would do to me if something happened to you in this place?”

“Nothing happened, Rick.”

“Morty I’ve seen this movie. You go out for a short walk and come back mugged or... _worse._” Rick shudders and Morty rolls his eyes at him.

“Anyway,” Morty continues. “Et puer puero perit. Senex superesse. I thought it was kinda weird.”

“Why’s that? Lot of aliens here, Morty. Some of them are going to speak other languages.”

“That’s Latin.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah you... y-you didn’t know that?”

Rick shakes his head.

“I took Latin last year,” Morty explains. “It was a choice of that or Spanish.” Rick looks very worried for a moment and Morty raises an eyebrow. “Don’t worry,” Morty laughs. “I don’t speak a word of Spanish. I didn’t wanna learn a language anyone actually spoke, y-y’know?”

Rick coughs. “Ahm! Y-Yeah, Morty. I get it.”

If Morty didn’t know any better, he could swear Rick’s cheeks are turning a little pink.

“I guess I just think it’s weird, y’know?” Morty continues. Frowning out the window and spotting the same phrase tagged across a building in neon orange paint. “How did they learn Latin way out here when we—when we don’t even speak it on earth anymore? Heh. Lit-little strange don’t you think, Rick?”

“You know what I think’s strange, Morty?” Rick says coldly. “They only gave me one packet of barbecue sauce. Fuck’s sake!”

* * *

As darkness falls, the city comes to life. Neon signs spark into life and the clubs and bars that sat muted and quiet in the daylight now roar with activity. While during daylight hours Grippernips seems to be mostly business, during the evening the city becomes one big party.

Unfortunately, Morty hates parties.

He has never been able to explain why. After all, there are usually barely-dressed girls and plenty of liquor to disguise his shyness. And Morty’s not introverted, he likes company more than he’d care to admit. But the parties Summer used to drag him to always left him anxious. He’d stutter worse than ever and he never seemed to know what to do with his hands. And small-talk felt impossible. He never understood how something so uncomfortable could come so easily to Summer, who could glide into a room and strike up a conversation with anyone and then leave without caring to learn their name.

Morty gulps when he looks at the entrance to Aletheia, which is lit up like a particularly garish Christmas tree. _Seriously_ , Morty thinks tersely, _do they really need that much neon lighting? _The cursive lettering is almost unreadable amidst so many flashing colours.

Morty takes a small step back. The music is too loud, he can hear it from here. And there are too many people inside and they’re all talking over one another. Morty won’t be able to hear Rick and he won’t even be able to think in that kind of environment.

“Okay Morty,” says Rick determinedly. “I gotta talk to my old buddy. You remember the plan?”

“Plan?”

“Dude did you space out again?”

“No.”

“Good. So I’ll go in. You wait five minutes, then _you _go in and sit down at the bar okay?”

“What?!” Morty squeaks. “B-by myself?”

“Uh. _Yeah, _Morty. You said it yourself: I’m a wanted fugitive here—and, uh, apparently I’m also a god—” Rick barely stifles a grin and Morty glares at him. “So if we’re constantly seen together you can find yourself targeted as much as me. You gotta blend in so don’t hover round me, okay?”

“But Rick, earlier today you said—”

“I know what I said Morty, but here you’re... okay, you’re not what I’d call _safe_ but you’re not gonna find yourself mugged or kidnapped in Aletheia, that’s for sure.”

“Rick I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Morty, I’m not leaving you alone. Not for long anyway. Just walk in five minutes after I do and then sit down at the bar. I’ll be watching you the whole time, okay? Just try to have fun. Strike up a conversation with somebody...”

Morty watches helplessly as Rick backs towards Aletheia’s front doors.

“Oh!” Rick says quickly. “I almost forgot. Whatever you do, don’t drink _anything. _Okay? Absolutely _no_ alcohol!”

“Yeah okay, Rick.” Morty nods meekly. Silently mourning the one thing that might have made this experience bearable.

“...you’ll do great, sport. I believe in you!”

Rick gives him a thumbs-up and disappears through the double doors.

Morty takes a deep shaking breath. He isn’t wearing a watch or carrying a smartphone so when an amount of time that he hopes is five minutes has past, Morty bravely steps up Aletheia’s grand steps and through the front doors.

Morty’s jaw drops at the sight.

Rick did say _three _things were great about Aletheia. One was his helpful acquaintence, the second was the karaoke bar, and the third—Morty has just discovered—is the hostesses.

Morty is surrounded by stunningly beautiful redheads; all of whom are clothed in dazzling eveningwear. He gulps silently as a curvacious woman with waist-length hair strides past in a glittering floor-length gown. It’s all he can do to turn away and begin walking towards the bar.

“Oh!” cries a particularly pretty freckle-faced girl when Morty almost bumps into her.

“S-Sorry,” Morty apologizes nervously. “I...heh...I’m just heading to the bar.”

The freckle-faced girl giggles and smiles at him. “Sure you’re not headed _away_ from there, honey?”

“Huh? Oh. Heh. N-no.” Morty stammers. “Just...just heading there now.”

“I’d better walk with you, sweetie.” She says reassuringly. “Wouldn’t want you getting lost.”

“Oh okay.”

“My name’s Kiki,” the girl says kindly. “And you?”

“Me? I’m Morty.” Morty takes a seat at one of the stools. “Morty Smith.”

“Morty Smith...” Kiki frowns. “Huh. You’re not from around here are you, Morty Smith?”

“No. How—how could you tell?”

“Well for one thing,” Kiki teases, “you gave your full _real _name to a complete stranger just because she’s cute.”

“Oh.”

“And now you’re not denying it, which proves my point.”

“I’m uh...that bad huh?”

“Worse, I’m afraid,” Kiki laughs. “Want to order a drink?”

“I’d better not.”

“So, let me get this straight,” Kiki says thoughtfully, resting her chin on her hand in interest. “You came to a _hostess club_ in order to _sit at the bar_ and _not _drink?” Kiki giggles. “What are you? A spy? Because you’re the worst I’ve ever seen.”

“You’ve seen a spy before?” Morty raises an eyebrow.

“I might have.”

“Well if you have, then I’d say _he _was the worst one you’ve seen.”

“Oh?”

“I’m awkward as fuck,” Morty grins. “If I were a spy, I’d probably be a lot smoother.”

“Well thank you for the heads up,” Kiki laughs and Morty’s shoulders begin to relax a little. If he can make a pretty girl laugh, he can’t be _that _bad right? “Listen,” Kiki says, lowering her voice, “this might sound a little weird but I think you should meet one of my other clients.”

“Huh?”

“Look, I know how it sounds and I swear I don’t usually push this kind of thing on people but this guy—I really think you two should meet.”

Morty immediately tenses.

“I’m good.”

“Are you sure? I really think it could be worth your while, Morty. I think you’d get a lot out of meeting him.”

Morty’s smile vanishes quickly.

“I’ll bring him over,” Kiki trills as she slides off her barstool and walks off towards a the stairs where Morty knows there are rows of private booths hosting tycoons and other members of the upper class.

_ Rick’s up there, _Morty reminds himself. And he knows Rick can see him. Rick’s watching over him right?

But Rick’s also surrounded by booze, red-headed sweeties and probably no shortage of cocaine up there. Morty bites his lip nervously. If there’s any environment that Rick would find distracting, it’s this one. And Morty’s been abandoned in the face of danger for much less.

Slipping off his barstool, Morty quickly dashes into the men’s room—the one place he can think of where Kiki won’t follow him. He uses the urinal furthest away from the door and tries to calm down.

Why is he panicking? This is ridiculous. Sure, it’s an unfamiliar situation but it isn’t the _ worst _one he’s been in.

Morty hears something dripping behind him and he feels his heart begin to thud erratically.

_ Oh fuck what’s going on? _

“Well, well, well, fancy seeing you here.”

Morty quickly zips himself up and whirls around to face an unassuming looking man in a suit and tie. Morty raises an eyebrow.

“Who are—?”

“Jeez, it’s only been a few days you’d think you’d remember me a _little._”

The man rubs the back of his neck awkwardly and Morty spots the familiar bronze mechanical arm with only three fingers. His jaw drops.

“Hey! You’re Mr. Skywalker.”

“Um. Skyrocket.”

“Yeah,” Morty finds himself smiling with relief. “Sorry, I was... I mean I am...”

“Don’t worry about it, kid.” Skyrocket says with a smile. “I was wearing a pretty ominous trenchcoat the first time we met. How’s that owlcat doing by the way?”

“Not sure,” Morty says honestly. It is strange how this man seems to make him feel at ease but Morty dismisses any worries he may have and continues to talk. “I only ever seem to see his nose. He’s a little shy.”

“Now you know how I feel,” Skyrocket winks and turns to the sink to wash his hands. “So why’re you hiding in the bathroom?”

“What makes you think I’m hiding?” Morty asks tersely and Skyrocket chuckles.

“Because no one spends this long in a bathroom,” Skyrocket laughs. “Well, no one with a Y chromosome anyway.”

“Okay, fine. The hostess I was talking to before said she wanted me to meet one of her other clients,” Morty shrugs. “I’m not keen so—so yeah, okay, I’m hiding in the fucking bathroom.”

“Well, you’re shit outta luck, kid.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because the client Kiki wanted you to meet is me.”

Morty takes a step back. “Wh-what? Why?”

“Oh, well,” Skyrocket coughs awkwardly and grins. “I’m not really the kind of guy who is into heels and gowns if you catch me.”

“Oh.”

“But of course, a man of my—uh—_status, _must maintain a certain image to the masses. So I come here, act entertained by the pretty red lovelies, and pay Kiki and a couple of her friends on the side for a more _intimate_ encounter with someone more to my taste.”

“Oh, well, I’m—I’m flattered. Really! But—but um...”

“It’s okay, Morty,” Skyrocket laughs. “I’m more interested in slightly older men anyway.”

“Right, okay.” Morty can barely contain the sigh of relief which escapes him.

“Listen,” Skyrocket says calmly. “I’m going out. Why don’t you—why don’t you come with me? I promise Kiki nor any of her friends are going to bother you if they think I’m already with you.”

Morty thinks for a moment. Rick wouldn’t approve, of course. But Morty disappeared for almost an hour yesterday and didn’t notice. If Skyrocket—who seems pretty nice—just wants Morty to sit with him then Morty doesn’t see the harm.

And now that he thinks of it, Skyrocket’s not bad looking. He’s a lot younger than Rick—possibly in his forties—and with sandy blond hair and sparkling green eyes he looks like a stereotypical prince charming.

Rick scarpered pretty quickly at the end of their bath the other night. Morty smiles. Purhaps Rick will regret that when he comes downstairs to find Morty sidled up close to someone like Skyrocket.

Morty grins to himself.

“Okay,” he agrees. “And thank you, Mr. Skyrocket.”

“Call me Falkor,” Falkor laughs. “Please. _Mr _just makes me feel like I’m at work.”

Morty giggles just that little bit too loudly at Falkor’s non-joke and secretly hopes Rick is worriedly scouring the room looking for him.

Maybe he’ll get spanked again for this.

It takes several minutes for Morty to realize that Falkor isn’t leading him to a table and is instead steering Morty towards the exit.

“Wait,” Morty says quickly. “Aren’t we going to sit down?”

“Oh,” Falkor turns to look at him. “No, I need to take care of something at the office. But you should come with me all the same. Kid like you shouldn’t be left on your own.”

“I...I really shouldn’t,” Morty stammers.

Falkor nods knowingly. “I see. You’re with someone here, aren’t you?” Falkor sighs a little sadly. “It’s okay, I get it. But y’know, if they really cared about you they wouldn’t make you sit at the bar while they lived it up with hot sluts and K-lax.”

_ He wouldn’t make me sleep in the same bed he kept his other whores in either, _ Morty says to himself. _ And he wouldn’t lead me into danger all the time. And he wouldn’t hurt me. _

Morty bites his lip, then looks up at Falkor.

“Y’know what?” Morty says determinedly. “You’re right. Wh—why should sit around waiting for that asshole?” Morty walks up to Falkor’s side. “Let’s go.”

...

Izroth Headquarters looks just as regal and impressive at night as it did during the day. Though it is clear that the office has been shut down after hours, the giant headless god looks downright demonic in the gloom and Morty trembles beneath its moonlit shadow.

“Don’t worry,” Falkor says reassuringly as Morty shudders. “It has that effect on me too. Creepy fucker. I’d imagine he’s even worse with his head.”

“Izroth has a head?” Morty asks curiously as he and Falkor begin ascending the endless steps to the temple.

“Well, he did once,” Falkor says nonchalantly. “So they say. But he’s too big now for anyone to care who’s in charge.”

Morty isn’t entirely sure he follows but before he can ask Falkor to clarify, Falkor has opened the doors to the temple and Morty follows him inside.

To Morty’s surprise, the temple’s interior is nothing like it’s outward appearance. While looking in, Morty could swear he was standing in the shadow of a great god and looking into a place of great reverence and prayer, the inside resembles like the typical layout of a particularly fancy office building. The floor is shiny— having just recently been cleaned—and Morty’s footsteps make a loud _thok thok thok _sound as he crosses the foyer to the elevators. There are large ornate potted plants on either side of the elevators, a grand piano on one side of the foyer, and an expensive-looking coffee shop on the other side—though its cabinet is currently covered up and the chairs are sitting upside-down on the tables.

Morty smiles.

It’s a hive. A place that is no doubt buzzing with suits and advertising executives during daylight hours.

Rick would hate it here.

The elevator dings loudly and Morty follows Falkor inside. They journey up to the ninteenth floor and then Falkor leads him out, across a short carpeted landing, and into another elevator that requires a personalized key-card.

Morty can’t help feeling a little bit special as Falkor swipes it through the card-reader and a newer, fancier, elevator soars down to collect them both.

Finally, after travelling for what seems like forever, Falkor shows Morty to his office.

The room is huge but oddly comfortable, like being in a rich person’s lounge. There are long black leather couches and a sea-green carpet that muffles Morty’s footsteps. The wall is a beautiful bay window looking out over the city’s frozen river. Stars dust the night’s sky like sugar but the glare of the neon city almost turns them invisible.

“Beautiful isn’t it?” Falkor muses as he watches Morty staring out at the grand view.

“I’d hate to—hate to have an office like this if I were afraid of heights, haha,” Morty laughs awkwardly. “But—yeah, it’s a nice view.”

“Morty.”

Morty feels a cold metal hand land on his shoulder and Morty tenses immediately. There’s something about Falkor’s grip that makes him uncomfortable. It’s too firm for someone who does not know him. It feels possessive, domineering, like Morty must stay put or he will be hurt.

When Morty gives no verbal response, Falkor continues speaking.

“I know who you are, Morty Smith.”

Morty remains silent. What is there to say? He went with this creep _willingly. _ It’ll be hours before Rick even notices he’s gone. _Fuck. _He’s well and truly fucked.

“You can relax,” Falkor says kindly. “I knew you’d—you’d have some kind of freak-out if I told you right away that I knew who you were. But I can assure you I mean you no harm.” Falkor’s metal hand leaves Morty’s shoulder and Morty spins around to watch him approach a well-stocked bar that is nestled in one corner. “Scotch, Morty?”

“No.” Morty doesn’t bother being polite.

“Would you prefer something else then?” Falkor asks. “Something harder? Softer? An Izroth™ organic cola purhaps?”

“I don’t want anything to drink,” Morty states firmly. “I’d like to leave, _Mr. _Skyrocket.”

“Alright, alright, I understand your caution and it’s not unwise,” Falkor nods, approaching Morty confidently. Morty narrows his eyes at him. “I brought you here under false pretences and if I were you I’d be pretty pissed too but I... I needed to do it in order to ask for your help.”

“My help?” Morty glares. “Why would I help you?”

“I know of the man whom you have been traveling with, Morty Smith.”

Morty’s mouth dries.

“Morty, that man is very dangerous. He is not to be trusted.”

“I know he’s dangerous,” Morty rolls his eyes. “He’s an asshole.”

“And he’s a very powerful man,” Falkor explains seriously. “A man who is quite willing to destroy—not in the name of misguided progress or personal wealth—but in the name of _chaos.” _Falkor sounds sad as he says it. “I know he hurts you, Morty, I know you are afraid of him as much as you are fond of him...” Falkor looks at Morty carefully. “But you _can_ help bring that chaos to heel. You think Rick Sanchez is powerful but...” Falkor looks out over the glimmering city lights, “...what he has is not _true_ power.”

Falkor Skyrocket then lifts his flesh-and-blood hand and moves it slowly across their shared view of the cityscape. At first, Morty doesn’t see what is happening but as Falkor continues he watches as each light in the city goes out, plunging the world into darkness.

Falkor then stands in front of Morty, his body in shadow.

“Light will always triumph over darkness, Morty.”

Morty looks at Falkor for a moment but his attention is swiftly drawn to the stars above. While before they looked like a pathetic sprinkle, now without the city’s lights polluting the sky, Morty can see the universe in all of her glory. Shining relentless and eternal while the city lies dead in her wake.

Morty shakes his head.

“True power?” Morty says. “I don’t think you understand anything about power, Mr. Skyrocket.” Morty can’t help the smile spreading across his face. “You want me to denounce Rick? I had a whole council of Ricks ask me to do the same thing and I spat in their faces. Those old farts had a whole lot more power than you, _sir._” Morty’s eyes are gleaming and his angry smirk does not falter. “You think you can impress me by controlling a city? My grandpa controls the fucking _universe._”

“I was worried you might say that,” Falkor says sadly. With a snap of his fingers the lights in the city illuminate into life again. And with them, Morty feels a cruel grip on each of his arms. “Make it quick please,” Falkor instructs the two Gromflamites.

Morty gives a sharp tug against one of the Gromflamite’s holds but it is inevitably fruitless.

Falkor gives Morty a pitying look. “If you’d just let me give you something to drink," he says sadly, "this would have been painless.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like my slump is officially over.


	9. He Thought Nothing Could Touch Him

_Once was a man who consumed his place and time  
He thought nothing could touch him_

— Duran Duran, “Falling Down”

* * *

“Rick.”

Rick ignores the indignant tone and runs a hand through his hair to find that it is still damp. His whole body is shining with a toxic mix of alcohol, sweat, and body glitter. Squanchy sure went nuts backstage...

“Rick, _please.”_

Rick hangs up his guitar and notices blood on the fret. Rick smiles. The audience got in amongst it. The show was only for one night but to him it could have been a lifetime. No government can touch him when he’s up there. No earthly entity could ever drag him back. There were no dimensions, no obligations, no life… it was a deathless death soaring with perfect harmony among friends and fans alike. Up there, he was God.

“RICK!”

“What?!” Rick snaps, he whirls around and suddenly stops short at the sight of her. “Wh-what is it?”

Diane’s face is forlorn. Rick is reminded of someone after learning of the death of a loved one or someone preparing themselves for inevitably terrible news. Nevertheless, he feels for her in the moment and wishes—for only a moment, mind you—that he hadn’t spent so much time away. Guilt gnaws at him, creating discomfort where there was once elation and Rick regards Diane with icy resentment.

“I…" she begins but then shakes her head and starts again. "Beth hurt herself today, Rick.”

“Oh.”

Diane is looking at Rick as though she expects more of a response but Rick is silent. She sighs with exasperation and Rick feels impatience clawing its way to the surface, he narrows his eyes at her coldly.

“So…?”

“Rick!” Diane gestures toward the garage. “Don’t you— don’t you care?”

“For fu—” (Diane’s mouth becomes a thin line) _“goodness’_sake, Diane! She’s my daughter!”

“That’s not an answer, Rick.”

Rick shrugs and turns away.

_“_Don’t you walk away from me!” Diane is suddenly out of her seat and following after. Her face furious. “You realize she nearly broke her neck today?”

“You know I don’t like you girls in my workshop, Diane. W-we have had this talk! I’m not the one who let the little brat run around in the g-garage am I? Y-You let a kid roll around on the floor of a Target, don’t be shocked when it gets stepped on.”

“I can not _believe_ this!” Diane throws up her hands in exasperation. “Your daughter is hurt and all you can do is blame her!?"

“Was—_errrp_—wasn’t blaming _her_, Diane.” Rick’s voice is cold.

“You’re drunk.”

“No shit.”

Diane’s top lip curls.

“So that’s it then?” she says with a nod. _“_You’d rather claim I’m the bad parent than admit—”

“Uh, Diane, take a damn—_darn_—hard _look _at us!” Rick gestures around their suburban surroundings. “We’re both bad parents! We don’t communicate, don’t discipline, don’t agree, certainly neither of us have ever picked up a parenting book. For goodness’ sake, I know how to do everything but I don’t know how to parent that kid. She’s gonna end up in prison by middle school at this rate.”

“Well at least I’m present.” Diane folds her arms, locking eye-contact with Rick.

Rick’s eyes narrow and his saliva is suddenly tastes of venom.

“Don’t. You. Dare.” Rick takes another step with every word, invading Diane’s space, inviting her to challenge him. “Throw that in my face, Diane.”

“Why? Because it’s true?”

“Watch it.”

Rick can feel a throb in his temple. A constriction in his mouth. A thread tightening in his brain that threatens to snap—

Rick shoves his white-knuckled fist into his pocket. He shoves past Diane and makes a beeline for the sanctity of the basement workshop.

“You’re never around, Rick!” Diane yells as Rick departs. He hears her footfalls on the descending steps behind him.

_Fuck! Don’t follow me you stupid woman! _Rick thinks furiously.

“You’re always out doing goodness’ knows what! You say you’re providing for us but look around, Rick!”

Rick glances around at the house he bought them, the clothes and toys and gadgets he’d both bought and built for his daughter, the frequently-used Floopyland crayon, the laser security system he’d provided to protect them...

“You’re only providing for _yourself!”_ Diane cries, gesturing to the various incomplete science projects littered around the workshop. “This science is consuming you, Rick. Don’t you—” Rick glances over his shoulder to see tears welling up in Diane’s eyes. "Can’t you see that?”

Rick strides up to Diane, eyes ablaze with fury, and holds a clenched fist up to Diane’s face, pressing his calloused knuckles into her soft cheek. Her already white face pales and she looks at it nervously. Her eyes darting fearfully back to Rick.

_That’s right, _Rick thinks cruelly._ Go ahead and pretend you didn’t ask for this._

She’s the only person alive who could ever make him this angry.

“This science,” he growls, “is the _one_ thing that—”

“Mommy?”

They both freeze.

Rick and Diane both stare into each other’s eyes and in that split second manage to completely agree on something for the first time in months.

  
  


_Don’t let her see._

  
  


“Hey, sweetie!” Diane swoops over to Beth and gathers her into arms. “Look! Daddy’s home, isn’t that a nice surprise?”

“Hi Daddy!” Beth beams. “I’m not surprised, Mom, I saw Daddy’s car in the driveway.”

Diane laughs. “But you know Daddy doesn’t take the car when he goes out.”

“No, he always takes the car when he goes to see his angel friend.”

Diane’s smile dies in an instant and she puts Beth down, whispering something to her in earnest before directing her to the stairs.

“Rick,” she says softly. “I want you to stay here and take a long look at yourself,” Diane says significantly. “I’m going to go get Beth and we’ll go out for ice cream. But if you want my input at all?” Diane sighs. “I don’t think this science thing is going to pay off.”

Rick scowls. He watches as Diane ascends the stairs into the warm light of the house above.

“I love you,” he mutters.

Diane pauses, not turning to look at him.

“I know, Rick.”

The door to the workshop slams shut behind her.

* * *

“And that’s wh-_urrrrp-why _I--I don’t f-fuck around with time-travel anymore, baby,” Rick slurs.

“That’s still an amazing story, Rick!” the redhead with her hand on Rick’s thigh giggles and leans over to refresh Rick’s drink. “Mindy said you had a hellova background.”

“Yeah, well, I’m old. It happens, hey can we get a waiter over here? I feel like a tequila sunrise at sunset if y-y’know what I mean.”

The two redheads giggle together.

“_Rick_,_” _the first one gasps, “you’re so _bad!”_

Rick leers at her, “you’ve _no idea,_ baby!”

“You _know…_” the one with the freckles murmurs, leaning in close. Rick puts an arm around her and encourages her to whisper in his ear, “the boss doesn’t like us doing this but Lori and Daisy and I were going to a party on the other side of the bridge after work tonight.”

Rick burps and raises his eyebrow at Freckles—Mindy—whatever she says her name is. “Uh-huh, wh-wh-what kinda party are we talking about?”

“Oh just a little something with—”

Rick stops listening. His lead is looking out of the booth at the bar, his eyes are narrowed, his top lip is curled into a smirk. Rick carefully follows his gaze.

“You checking out that boy in the yell-yellow shirt?” Rick asks.

“Caught me,” Slartyfarst says with a small shrug, “seems an odd place for someone so young.”

“Yeah, well, th-these places’ll let just about anyone through their doors so long as they have the cash won’t they?” Rick states nonchalantly while draining his glass. “Hey, Deirdre?”

“Daisy.”

“Yeah, couldya-couldya refresh an old man’s glass? I’m keen for another Shade of Evening. Extra whiskey.”

“You know, the bar is having a special on—”

“Oh don’t try to—don’t try to—don’t—_euurrrrp_—upsell me man, I can guarantee that by the end of tonight you’re going to get a bigger tip than you’ve ever had working here.”

The one called Daisy giggles pleasantly and tosses her bouncy red hair behind one shoulder. “Oh I don’t know, Mr. Sanchez, I’ve had some _pretty big_ tips…”

“_Uh, _does staying young and looking like that forever sound appealing?” Rick smirks.

Daisy blinks in surprise. “You’re not serious.”

“Oh I am. _And_ you’ll get a hefty cash prize while I’m here,” Rick states, holding his empty cocktail glass out to Daisy.

He lets her fingertips _just _brush the glass before he pulls it away from her. Daisy’s breath catches in her throat and Rick looks down into her yellow cat-like eyes, hungry with desire for what Rick’s really dangling in front of her. “But it’s not a tip, _Daisy,_” he explains, “it’s a _bribe.”_

All eyes turn to Rick and he smiles.

“You three girls work for me now,” he explains, “you give me what I need, and you keep your mouths good and shut about it, and in exchange you’ll all get to be rich Rachelle Lefevre clones for the rest of your lives.”

The girls all exchange excited glances.

“What do you need Rick?”

“Tell us!”

“Anything you want, Rick!”

“And what do _I _get?” asks Mr. Slartyfarst, “for being the lead you already have?”

“_You,”_ Rick explains quietly, “get to live long enough to explain to your boss why you let Rick Sanchez get away.”

Mr. Slartyfarst pales.

“Y-y-you think I don’t know you alerted the entire Grippernips Mafia to where I am?” Rick grins, “you think I’m that _stupid, _Derek?”

Mr. Slartyfarst glares. “Do you have any idea the price you have on your head, Sanchez?”

Rick laughs. “Do you have any idea how much _more_ you could have gotten? Every gang, mafia, drug lord, and former Blockbuster video franchisee wants a piece of me, asshole! Y-y-you may have some idea of what a big name Rick Sanchez is in this town, but do you have any idea how big that name is in this _galaxy?”_ Rick hands his empty cocktail glass to Daisy. “Refill that for me, will ya? Ladies, give her a ha-_AAN-and._”

All three girls hastily scramble out of their seats and clumsily make their way out of the booth as quickly as possible.

“Now,” Rick leans back in his seat and lights up a cigarette, “Dickless Derek Slartyfast, you’re going to give me the whereabouts of the official who called in the order to kidnap the Smith Family of Planet Earth C-137.” Rick pockets his lighter. _“Or_ you can die right here in this booth.” Rick burps into his fist and it sends out a puff of smoke. “_Brruurrp, _your choice, _Derek._”

Mr. Slartyfarst looks flustered for a moment.

“Rick I—” he stammers, “—I thought we were _friends.__”_

“Yeah, okay, like a poorly skilled surgeon, I am running out of patience.” Rick pulls out his pistol, cocks it, and jams the barrel into Mr. Slaryfarst’s crotch, earning him a strained _oof!_ for his effort. “Tell me the name of the one who made the order to kidnap the Smith Family or you can say goodbye to your cowardly balls.”

Mr. Slartyfarst sweats profusely and grips his seat. “It wasn’t an ordinary government official,” he stammers, “it was an army officer turned covert ops specialist by the name of Officer Skyrocket. I don’t know the first name.”

“Th-th-that’s _seriously_ it?” the corner of Rick’s mouth twitches crossly, “I could have just kidnapped a Gromflamite soldier and scraped that information out of his memory!”

“N-n-no,” Mr. Slartyfast continues, “Officer Skyrocket isn’t just any random officer. He specializes in _big_ projects. Ohh-only a handful of soldiers even know about him. Hell _I _only know about him because he once hired Krombopulos Michael.”

“What? Th-that doesn’t make any sense, _Derek. _Wh-why would a member of the Intergalactic Government Army hire Krombopulos Michael?” Rick asks incredulously. “What did he hire him for?”

“I don’t know, Sanchez!” Mr. Slartyfarst cries and Rick digs his pistol brutally into his crotch, drawing out a pained whimper. “I… he didn’t say!”

“Well what _did _he say?” Rick sneers. “C’mon, Derek, don’tcha wanna have kids someday?”

“H-he said the target couldn’t be killed with regular matter a-a-and he needed to purchase some antimatter weaponry!” Mr. Slartyfarst stammers desperately. “He did-didn’t say the target’s name, he only told me who hired him!”

“Why was the Smith Family kidnapped?” Rick asks next.

“Oh c’mon man, I don’t know!”

Rick calmly removes the cigarette from his mouth and puts it out in the ashtray on the table. “Y’know, this gun?” he says simply, “it doesn’t do a lot really. Hurts like hell and it’ll make you bleed fair but, really, I just keep a standard pistol around for the nice _click click _it makes when I want to threaten people. Hear this?” Rick takes the gun out from between Mr. Slartyfast’s balls and points it at the quivering man’s temple. Mr. Slartyfarst trembles at the sound as Rick cocks the gun and Rick’s face splits into a wide grin. “Pretty threatening, huh?

“But _this,_” Rick pulls out a well-used, very effective laser pistol which he points at Mr. Slartyfarst’s testicles, “is something I _know_ you’ll recognize. See, I have sold only two of these in my career and one of them was to Krombopulos Michael.”

“Y-_you_ sold him the antimatter weaponry?”

“Yeah-huh, that’s right,” Rick nods, “but this?_ This _is a particularly fun little weapon. It doesn’t require bullets y’see? It—_eeuurrrp_—it’s a light-powered weapon that converts light particles into a highly toxic radioactive plasma. Y’know what that means, _Derek?”_

“N-n—”

Rick pulls the trigger and Mr. Slartyfarst lets out a cut-off shriek before shoving a hand over his burning testicles, his eyes watering, his face red.

“I—I’m _burning!” _he yells. “My balls!”

“Nope,” Rick shrugs, “you’ve just come down with the universe’s most fast-acting strain of testicular cancer.” Rick explains simply. “You’ll have—_ooh_—” Rick looks at his watch, “—_roughly _three hours to let your boss know you’ve failed him. I suggest you do so quickly so that he kills you nice and quick because, believe me, _that_ kind of radiation is going to hurt like hell. And there’s no cure, by the way, not in any universe. Trust me, I’ve checked.”

Derek Slartyfarst looks up at Rick and Rick watches placidly as his last hope fades behind his eyes, leaving his face miserable yet eerily calm. It’s an expression that once thrilled Rick, made him feel powerful, but now it just bores him.

He sees shit like this for _breakfast._

“Did you—” Mr. Slartyfast winces in pain and crosses his legs, his breathing becomes laboured and he grits his teeth, “is this wh-what you did to Krombopulos Michael?”

“Huh? What? Oh, no!” Rick chuckles. “No, _noooo,_ Krombopulos Michael he—no, no, he was a beloved client and all-round great guy! No, definitely not.”

“Th-then wh—”

“Y’know that unassuming kid in the yellow shirt you were checking out earlier?” Rick asks casually.

“Y-yeah?”

“_He_ killed Krombopulos Michael.”

“Wh-what?” Mr. Slartyfarst gapes.

“Yeah,” Rick gets to his feet and strides out of the booth, unscrewing the cap on his hip flask as he walks. “Kid’s a stone-cold killer. Hell of a plot twist, ain’t it?”

Rick doesn’t look back at his former friend writhing in pain in their private booth. He hears a small cough from one of the redhaired hostesses and turns to see the one named Daisy smiling at him nervously. “Uh, M-Mr. Sanchez, sir—”

“Ri-_errrp-_ick is fine,” Rick nods at her. She hands him a fresh cocktail and he smiles at her gratefully. “Y’know?” Rick inattentively stirs the cocktail with the straw. “Th-this drink better be worth the price.”

“Oh, it is sir!” Daisy replies nervously, her gaze darting worriedly to Mr. Slartyfast and then back to Rick.

“I dunno,” Rick murmurs, “a thousand Flurbos a—a drink seems a st-steep price, Gracie.”

“Daisy, sir.”

Rick raises his brow at her and she bows her head.

“The drinks in this establishment are—” Daisy gulps, “are worth every penny, I assure you.”

Rick regards her a moment and takes a sip. He smiles and lets out a hearty sigh of contentment. “So they are.”

Daisy’s shoulders lower and she exhales slightly.

“Here,” he hands her the money and Daisy’s eyes widen like saucers.

“S-sir?” she stammers, “There must be some m-mistake! There’s—there’s—”

“Fourteen thousand Flurbos?” Rick says mildly. “That’s right. I’m ordering fourteen thousand—_drinks_—Maisie,” Rick drains the glass. “I expect them to be as good as this one.”

Daisy swallows. “Mr. Sanchez—_Rick_—I…”

“Don’t worry I have faith in you,” Rick replies blandly. “And remember,” he says as turns away, “I have that _other_ little incentive if you manage to get me what I want.”

_Great, _he thinks regretfully. Losing Derek Slartyfast is an ally is more of a loss than he’d like to admit. The man may not have been smart but he knew a lot of people in Grippernips and could usually locate them fairly easily. But this isn’t like the last time Rick was here. Laying low was an option then, it isn’t now, and he needs the city to be afraid of him.

But, still, he lost one spy and gained many more and people will spill more to their foxy red-haired hostesses than they ever do to club owners. Daisy, Freckles and the other one will hopefully be worth their price.

Rick swaggers over to the bar where Morty’s supposed to be playing his own role and is surprised to find Morty’s bar stool ominously empty.

“Barkeep!” Rick barks. A very clean-looking young man turns and raises an eyebrow at him. “Yes sir?”

“There w-_eeuurrrgh_-was a kid sitting here earlier? About five foot ten, yellow shirt, short w-wavy locks, annoying-as-fuck?”

“Uh, I only just got on shift sir,” the bartender replies. “L-Lemme ask Greg—”

“Could you?” Rick replies and waits patiently. The bartender is gone for some time before he returns looking very worried. A more stereotypical stout-bodied, thick-armed bartender shuffles in behind him wearing a less-than-stereotypical look of fatherly concern on his face.

Rick keeps his face deliberately blank.

“Well?”

“You looking for the kid who was sitting here?” the older bartender asks.

Rick nods.

“I’m sorry. He left several hours ago with a blond man followed by a bunch of real brutal looking guys.”

“I see,” Rick replies. He lowers his gaze a moment, then looks up, his eyes sharp and focused on the bartender. “Aside from brutal-looking, what did they look like?” Rick asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Wh-wh-what do you mean, what do I mean?” Rick snaps. “I mean _what did they look like?_ Were they—were they Gearpeople, Chinese, thirty-year-olds who unironically collect Funko Pops, o-one of those weird guys outside that look like traffic cones? What the _fuck_ did they look like?” Rick can feel something awful brewing inside him and if it weren’t for the fact he _needed_ this clown, he’d be ripping the bartender’s head off and shitting down his neck.

“Hey man, you wanna calm down? This place reserves the—”

Rick seizes the collar of the bartender’s shirt and yanks him over the counter. The karaoke singers at the back of the room go quiet and all conversation stops. Rick swears he hears a record scratch somewhere…

“I don’t _care,” _Rick growls. “I’ve met a lot of idiots in my life, barkeep, and I can tell you’re not one of them so unless you want to lose your testicles you are going to tell me where that kid went and who removed him.”

“I think—th-they might have been,” the bartender stammers, “G-Gromflamite.”

“Perfect.”

Rick lets the bartender go and as soon as he does the karaoke resumes and the dull chatter from the various tables and booths around the club resumes its melodic hum. Rick gets out of his stool in order to leave the club and begin what he is certain will be a long and difficult search for Morty but he’s immediately stopped in his tracks by another club employee looking very concerned.

“Mr. Stevens?” the employee says nervously. Rick watches as the man rushes to the bar.

“Sir!” the bartender calls Rick back—and Rick has to give the guy props given that Rick just threatened him, “the boy—the boy you were looking for...?”

Rick rushes back to the bar and turns on the newcomer who flinches when Rick rounds on him.

“I was just in the back alley taking out the trash and there’s a young boy out there passed out by the bins,” he explains, “I was just coming back through so I could bring him inside through the back door, see if he’s okay—”

Rick can’t hear him. The karaoke singers are muted, the otherwise pleasant hum of the quiet conversations that fill the room are muffled by the increasing sound of air rushing past Rick’s ears. He can’t think—can’t feel—for the raw red cruel emotion boiling deep inside his throat making his skin burn and his knuckles turn white. With saliva glands pumping and his blood steaming, Rick can only utter four venomous words:

“You found him… _where?”_


	10. No Soul Left To Sell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Rape

_Help me_  
_I've got no soul to sell_  
_Help me_  
_The only thing that works for me_  
_Help me get away from myself  
_ _I want to fuck you like an animal_

—Nine Inch Nails, "Closer"

* * *

The bartenders don’t need threatening to allow Rick outside the back door and into the alley. It is exactly as Rick expected: cold, dank, smelly and there’s trash spilled everywhere. Tiny creatures squeak in alarm and then scurry into the shadows when they hear Rick approaching, a quivering owlcat hisses at him and Rick glares at it, sending it scurrying away.

Rick’s footsteps sound wet even though it hasn’t been raining and Rick is fairly certain he’s walking through someone’s piss.

Morty—thank goodness—is easy enough to spot. Even in the gloom, his yellow shirt is a stark contrast against the black garbage bags.

“_MORTY!” _Rick barks when he sees him and immediately runs to the useless little brat. “Morty you—you _idiot!_ You had _one_ job!”

Morty doesn’t move and Rick pauses.

The boy’s pale as a ghost. He lies corpse-like in a position on his side in amongst the trash, one arm tucked beneath him, his face blank, his body worryingly still. Even his chest barely manages to rise with each breath.

Rick’s anger evaporates and he’s left with something cold and horrible deep in his bones.

“M-Morty?” Rick says quietly. He reaches out and slips his hand into Morty’s, lacing their fingers together and squeezing gently.

To Rick’s relief, Morty’s skin is warm. But that relief is short-lived. Morty’s too warm, he’s _hot,_ yet the boy isn’t sweating. Rick places a hand to Morty’s forehead and realises the kid’s burning with fever.

“Morty!” Rick says urgently, “Morty, come on, wake up!”

When that doesn’t work, Rick stands back and scowls. His heart’s pounding, he’s frustrated, he hates the kid and loves the kid and if Morty would just— would just—

Rick strikes the boy across the face without thinking and Morty’s eyes fly open in shock.

“Rick?” Morty whimpers. He reaches up a hand to touch his reddened cheek and makes a choked-off sound when he touches the smarting skin. Rick bites back a painful emotion that makes him want to reach out and either strangle him or cuddle him.

“Morty!” Rick glares down at him. “Y-you… you _idiot, _Morty! What the fuck happened?”

“I dunno…” Morty mumbles and staggers to his feet. Something that is not helped by the uneven surface of the trash bags. “Don’t… don’t _rrrr_emember.”

Rick’s eyes narrow as Morty sways.

“Morty?” he asks coldly. “Are you drunk?”

“Can’t be _drunk_, R-_hic!” _Morty hiccups and stumbles forwards. Rick immediately lunges forward to catch him and Morty clings, giggling, to the lapels of Rick’s lab coat. Rick glances down at Morty’s feet which are pointing in wildly different directions. “I d-did what y’said, Rick.” Morty explains. “I didn’t ‘ave any alcohol.”

Rick looks down at Morty scrupulously. “Well that’s obviously a lie,” he growls at his obviously inebriated grandson. Morty looks a little hurt by that statement and Rick rolls his eyes dramatically.

“’m sorry, Rick.”

“Yeah, yeah, come on…” Rick turns around and squats. “Heh—_eehhhrp_—hop on my back, Morty.”

Morty is as graceful as a goose. He wriggles his way onto Rick’s back, hooking his feet into areas he probably shouldn’t and grabbing wildly at Rick’s hair and arms.

_What am I, a tree? _Rick thinks crossly as Morty eventually slumps against him, his arms wrapped tight around Rick’s neck.

“Alright, Morty, let’s—_eeurrrp_—let’s get going,” Rick stands uncomfortably and begins making his way out of the alley, around the back of the club and into the street. He just needs to get them to the hotel and then—

Something’s wrong.

The night is cold. It is rumoured to be snowing just out of town. And yet Morty’s body temperature seems to be increasing.

_God, what is wrong with the kid? _Rick thinks with irritation.

At first it is somewhat soothing, carrying something so warm in the crisp night air. But that quickly gives way to discomfort as Rick’s back becomes slick under the gathering heat. It feels as though the boy is cooking from the inside out. Yet Morty _still _isn’t sweating.

Rick eventually steers them into another ally and plonks Morty down. He removes his lab coat and shirt, sweating heavily.

“Wh-what the fuck have you been drinking, Morty?” Rick asks angrily.

Even in the shadows, Rick can see Morty’s mouth twist into a shy smile, his cheeks flushing an intimate shade of pink.

“...Morty?”

“I… I like it when you take your shirt off, Rick,” Morty murmurs, looking away shyly.

Rick blinks.

And then suddenly, before Rick can come up with a crude response, Morty has stalked towards him and shoved him, slamming Rick’s back into the adjacent brick wall.

“Jesus! Morty, what the—_mff!_”

Rick stills as Morty’s mouth is suddenly slotted against his, biting and gnawing at his lips, Rick’s brain stutters and fizzles…

Rick grabs Morty’s shoulders and shoves him away. “Wh-what the _fuck_ do you think you’re playing at Morty?” He snarls. “Don’t you know where we _are?”_

Morty lets out a non-committal hum and Rick narrows his eyes at him.

“No, Morty,” Rick insists, holding Morty at arm’s length. “No, remember? Plan is they know who _I _am but we keep you hidden, Morty. Remember Morty? If anyone sees—”

But Morty—_dumbass!_ —isn’t listening. He’s wearing an impossibly wicked grin on his usually innocent face, a gleam of madness in his eye. His skin burning with lustful heat and his cheeks flushed an enticing red.

Rick places a nervous hand against Morty’s cheek.

“You… you have a fever, Morty. You’re ill.”

Morty looks up at Rick from under his thick eyelashes and grins cheekily.

“Aw jeez, Rick.” Morty simpers. “I think we’re… we’re both pretty sick.”

And Rick can’t _fucking take it anymore._

_Alright kid,_ Rick scowls, _you want this? _

Morty lets out a surprised yelp as Rick yanks him against his chest.

“You fucking asked for it.”

Rick descends upon him, kissing and biting at Morty’s soft lips. And Morty—the witless _idiot_—opens for him instantly.

Rick plunges his tongue inside and Morty’s own muscle greets his with tender licks and strokes, like he’s savouring every movement of Rick’s tongue and inviting even more. He groans sinfully into Rick’s mouth, causing Rick’s own throat to vibrate in response. The boy’s mouth is hotter and wetter and sweeter than he remembers from before and Morty’s kissing game has also improved to an impossible standard.

It’s shocking, the repetitive bursts of pleasure Rick feels from even the smallest of touches from Morty, setting alight something explosive.

Rick can feel himself becoming breathless and breaks away with a gasp, using the opportunity to spin them both around, thrusting Morty against the wall with a sickening smack.

Morty lets out a cry and Rick crowds in close, fisting the boy’s shirt and glaring into his face.

“What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing huh, Morty? What the fuck was that y-you cocky little shit?”

Typically, Morty would blush and stammer. But whatever the kid had to drink means he’s left his brain at the door and instead Morty grabs Rick’s hips and drags him forwards, grinding their crotches together in earnest and causing Rick to hiss under his breath at the sudden friction.

Morty’s groin isn’t just hard, it’s _wet. _Oh _fuck _he’s leaking come already...

“R-_iick..._” Morty breathes. “Fuck Rick, I…” There’s an uncomfortable strain in Morty’s voice and Rick watches him with mild interest.

“Morty?”

“Rick… please?” Morty sounds almost in pain. “Wh-what is this supposed to feel like, Rick?”

Rick frowns.

“It feels like my nerves are on fire. It’s too hot, Rick. I’m too… it burns. It _hurts._”

Morty’s hooking his fingers under the waistband of Rick’s pants, dragging him closer and grinding their crotches together. Morty makes a small angry noise deep in his throat.

“I… I know it’s wrong to want you, Rick. I know. But… but I can’t help it. _Please, _Rick.” Morty moans. “Please. I want you to pound your fat cock into my ass.”

Morty looks desperately up into Rick’s face with lust blown eyes, his expression open and exposed, eyes sparkling with need as he scans Rick’s face, “Please, Rick, please. Just this once. I’ll do whatever you want Rick, anything you say just… _please..._”

Rick is silent as something warm and enticing pools in his lower abdomen.

Anything he wants would be pushing it. Morty’s tougher than either of them expected, but he’s not strong enough for the things Rick really wants to do to him.

_I’ve never fucked a virgin before, _Rick salivates.

Rick crashes their mouths together once more, this time curling his fingers beneath the curve of Morty’s supple bottom and hauling him up against the wall. The boy lets out a small squeak in surprise before instinctively wrapping his own legs around Rick’s middle.

Rick smiles against Morty’s parted lips and grinds into Morty’s manhood, eliciting a broken sob from the boy as his own swiftly filling cock chafes mercilessly against Morty’s throbbing erection.

“You little shit,” Rick snarls when their lips part once again. Using his pelvis to keep the boy pinned, he seizes Morty’s hand in his own and drags it down to feel where their cocks are grinding against one another. “You… is this what you want? You want this inside of you? Fucking you? _S__tretching_ you?”

Morty shudders and lets out an unbridled moan, his forehead buried in Rick’s neck as he begins sucking a bruise into Rick’s collarbone. Rick grins.

“Th-think you can take me, Morty?”

Morty’s skin seemed to burn before but now it is radiating heat on a whole new level. A tiny cry pulls from his lips as Rick slams him into the wall once again, thrusting his now completely hard cock against Morty’s member.

“Answer me, Morty!”

“Yes! Yes! I want it, Rick! I can take it!”

Rick lets out a growl and, with one hand yanking Morty’s head back, descends onto the side of Morty’s throat. Morty’s skin is even more overheated here and—again—without the faintest taste of sweat, Rick is left to appreciate the smoothness of Morty’s flesh. He lavishes Morty’s neck with attention, sucking brutal bruises into his skin and dragging his tongue over Morty’s bounding carotid artery. Rick grins broadly as he nuzzles against it, knowing how raw and tender the skin there must feel.

Rick’s hands find the hem of Morty’s T-shirt and he dips them beneath it, running his fingers over Morty’s warm skin and admiring the firmness of the boy’s stomach before reaching higher to nudge at the boy’s newly exposed nipple. Morty’s pulse increases with his touch and Rick leans into his neck to kiss it.

“Hey!”

Rick doesn’t stop. He drags his tongue up the side of Morty’s throat and receives an obscene groan in response.

“HEY! You… can’t do that here!”

Still holding Morty against the wall, Rick whips out his blaster as fast as he can and points it straight at the mysteryintruder. His anger suddenly ablaze.

“Is there a _problem?_” Rick growls.

The creature wears a red vest over a white shirt and Rick notes a nametag that he can’t read in the dim light. He’s no doubt an employee at another host club. Probably bar staff. Someone unimportant. The creature turns white and takes a shaking step backward. Rick’s eyes narrow.

The little grey creature visibly trembles as he tries to stand his ground, “Y-you can’t do that here. I-I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Rick silently debates killing the creature where he stands but before any decision can be reached, Morty nuzzles restlessly against Rick’s neck.

“Just… just forget him, Rick,” Morty pants. “Let’s go. Take—take me back to the hotel.”

Morty’s voice is needy and delicious and Rick is instantly subdued.

  
  


_"I hate it when you kill people."_

  
  


Rick lowers his weapon and, still glaring daggers at the insolent attendee Rick smiles darkly.

“It’s your lucky day, pal.”

* * *

Rick unlocks their motel room door and shoves the boy inside. He turns back to make sure the door is properly locked only to turn around and find himself with a lapful of Morty.

Morty’s kisses are sloppy with hunger and he’s pawing desperately at Rick’s pants, as though he can’t stand the thought of either of them being clothed a second longer. Morty’s hands are uncoordinated and desperate and Rick grits his teeth as Morty gropes mindlessly at Rick’s crotch.

Finally when Rick can’t take it anymore, he seizes Morty by the back of his shirt and—after hastily ridding the boy of his T-shirt—roughly steers him over to the bed before slamming him face-down onto the mattress.

“You little shit,” Rick snarls. “That was… that was pretty fucking _bold_ back there, Morty.”

Even in the gloom, Rick can see Morty grinning into the mattress.

“Yep.”

With a low growl, Rick reaches around Morty and carefully unzips him, roughly tugging the kid’s jeans down over his ass.

It’s dim in here but not so dark that Rick can’t stop and appreciate the sight. A firm white behind ready and waiting with—

Rick goes still.

Something moist glistens against the top of Morty’s ass. It’s too dark to see exactly what it is but Rick is still immediately queasy at the sight. Rick reaches out to touch it, carefully inspecting the foreign substance.

His stomach drops.

  
  


It’s semen.

  
  


Rick hastily pulls himself away from Morty and flips him over onto his back.

_Dammit! _It’s still not safe to switch on a light.

“Stay there,” Rick orders and Morty—thank goodness!—is actually obedient for once. Rick spends way too long hunting through the pockets of his discarded lab coat and then, once he’s found what he was looking for, suddenly descends upon Morty, pinning the squirming boy in place.

“Thass a—thass a—that’s a funny looking dildo, Rick,” Morty chortles and Rick glowers.

“It’s not a dildo, dummy,” Rick states. “Now hold still.”

With one hand on Morty’s forehead tilting his head upwards, Rick carefully shines the penlight into each of Morty’s eyes. Morty looks confused but with a sharp look from Rick he holds still.

“Your pupils are dilated,” Rick states. “Morty, I need you to be honest with me. Did you have _anything _to drink? Anything at all. Even water.”

“No,” Morty replies and Rick thinks for a moment. “Rick? Are you oka—”

Ignoring Morty, Rick backs off and reaches for Morty’s arm. Straddled over Morty’s lap, Rick shines the penlight into the crook of Morty’s left elbow and thankfully sees nothing. A police siren calls nearby and suddenly the room is bathed in red and blue light. Rick hastily switches off the penlight and holds still, unconsciously holding his breath as the siren’s wail grows faint. Once he’s sure the car has passed, Rick shines the light at Morty’s other arm and his stomach sinks.

There’s no mistaking the bleeding needleprick in Morty’s flesh.

Shining the penlight down Morty’s arm, Rick spies the tell-tale bluish tinge of bruises blooming around Morty’s wrist. No doubt the place where somebody grabbed him and held him down.

“Rick?”

A soft hand has landed on Rick’s cheek and Rick’s mind is suddenly pulled from the barbed place it once sat. The rage that was settling swiftly in Rick’s abdomen shifts into something—not _pleasant_ exactly—but manageable. He looks down into the shadows that conceal Morty’s face.

“Wh-what’s wrong?” Morty asks worriedly.

_Christ. _Even roofied, the kid is still… well… _Morty._

Rick swallows down the vile emotion creeping up his throat and forces a strained smile.

“Shh...” Rick says softly. “Nothing’s wrong.” He leans in and places a loving kiss to Morty’s forehead. “Turn over.”

Morty gives an adorable giggle and Rick eases back as Morty rolls over onto his front. With a gentle hand on each of Morty’s narrow hips, Rick carefully guides Morty onto his hands and knees.

Penlight now held precariously between Rick’s teeth, Rick lowers Morty’s bottom-half completely. He kneels up on the bed and after placing a reassuring hand on Morty’s back, he lowers both hands to firmly grasp Morty’s cheeks and gently spread them apart.

  
  


And in that moment, Rick’s cold heart finally breaks.

  
  


Morty was raped.

  
  


Not tonight. No. While there is a myriad of extensive scarring, there are no new wounds and no fresh blood. But what is there is enough to chill Rick to the core and create a hollow darkness deep inside his chest. Inspecting closely—but still gently—Rick can clearly see where something sharp was inserted inside of him.

So it wasn’t just rape. It was also sodomy.

A distant roar begins in Rick’s ears, soft and far away at first before gathering into a booming crescendo that deafens all other thoughts. Rick’s tongue is thick and dry in his mouth, he hears a sharp grinding sound that he then discovers is the gnashing of his own teeth. Rick has never felt such bestial rage.

All he can see is red. All he can taste is ash.

  
  


_Worlds are going to burn for this. _

  
  


Rick won’t settle for simple vengeance. Not anymore. Death, torture, those things are nothing. Rick needs destruction. He needs something to burn. He needs...

**C H A O S**

A sharp hiss breaks through the din and Rick’s mind is suddenly silent.

“Mm...Rick!” Morty whimpers. “That hurts.”

Rick lets go of Morty instantly and places his guilty hands on his own thighs, he hangs his head and tries to dull the still-boiling wrath that continues to pound inside his head.

Morty begins to turn around. “Rick?”

“Don’t look at me, Morty!” Rick suddenly barks and Morty immediately snaps his head back around to face front.

“S-sorry, Rick.”

Morty sounds frightened and Rick can’t blame him. The tremors that began inside Rick’s chest have travelled to his extremities and left him shaking with anger.

Morty is _his._

And someone took him. Ravaged him. Violated him. Sodomised him. Took his—

Rick pales and his already dry mouth becomes hot.

Morty would have been a virgin before this was done to him. And even worse, is he still thinks he is. Because _that’s_ the thing missing from Morty’s memory: the night his virtue was violently and viciously stolen from him.

“That should have been _mine.”_

Rick hardly recognises the venom in his own voice and a part of him is shocked at the words that have escaped his head.

But it’s the truth. Rick can finally see that now. So far, though they’d come awfully close, Rick had pulled away at the last minute. Consciously or not, Rick was saving that part of Morty until he was sure they were both ready to cross that line.

  
  


_(Good grief, you really are in love.)_

_SHUT UP!_

  
  


“R-Rick…?”

Rick doesn’t respond.

“My arms are getting tired. A-are you… are you gonna—”

_Oh god! _Morty still expects Rick to fuck him. A sickness crawls into Rick’s throat and he presses the heel of his hand to his forehead.

Some dormant depraved part of him, though only briefly, actually considers it. After all, Morty is ready and willing in a way he has never been before…

Rick shakes his head.

“Y-You’ve been drugged, Morty.”

“Huh?”

Rick guides Morty’s hips around so that he’s lying on his side.

“I don’t understand Rick,” Morty blinks up at him from his new position.

“I know,” Rick nods. “I know you don’t. And you’re probably not gonna remember any of this tomorrow.”

“So… s-so do you still wanna—?”

“Still want…? Oh! Oh god, no, Morty. _No!_” Rick cries, horrified. “I’m not fucking my _roofied _grandson. Jeez!”

_(Not that you didn’t consider it.)_

“But… but _Rick!” _Morty whines and Rick shakes his head determinedly.

“Sorry, babe.”

“I…I can make you feel good, Rick. I can do it. Like, like our first night in Grippernips? I can do it again,” Morty’s voice is sweet and earnest and so so fearful.

Rick can’t help the low angry sound that emits from his throat. A part of him wants it of course. Rick might be primarily a top but he’s got a sub-streak a mile long and when Morty took advantage of it that one time…

But no. Not tonight. Not after this discovery.

Rick makes himself move forward and carefully touch Morty’s cheek. He’s moved to find that it’s wet with tears and Rick’s gut tightens.

“I know you can,” Rick replies kindly, “but right now I just wanna hold you. Maybe make out a little.”

“Did I do something wro—”

Rick presses a finger to Morty’s lips, silencing him.

“None of that,” he insists before repeating in a whisper, “none of that.”

Taking Morty’s hand in his, Rick brings it to his lips. He kisses the pulse in Morty’s wrist before offering the boy a relieved almost apologetic sigh. He lets Morty take the lead then, the boy’s legs wrap around Rick’s waist and he clings to Rick while planting earnest loving kisses to Rick’s lips.

Rick bitterly wishes he could turn on the light and look at him. His memory of the boy will have to suffice: imagining each freckle, each flicker of Morty’s dark lashes, the way Morty’s eyes widen in fear, the way he screamed when Rick put his dry finger inside of him…

Rick rips his lips away with a gasp.

_Where’d that memory come from?_ Rick blinks. It must have been from the time he tortured the kid during a black-out. Sometimes something residual can creep in when he doesn’t expect it, it’s happened before. Though normally, it doesn’t bother him so much.

Rick looks over to where Morty lies next to him and realises Morty isn’t pushing to get closer, instead he’s waiting patiently for Rick to make the next move.

He gently pets Morty’s hair and smiles at him in the darkness.

“Come here.”

Rick wraps his arms around Morty and cradles the boy’s head against his chest, holding him so close they could become one. In this moment, Rick can’t think of Morty sexually. He can only feel the raw overwhelming instinct of a grandfather to protect his grandchild.

“You...” Rick shakes away the tears that are daring to choke him and keeps his voice firm. “Y-you are a _good boy, _Morty.” Rick says determinedly. “And I don’t say it enough… I… I’m proud to be your Grandpa.”

“Rick?” Rick hears a muffled giggle against his chest. “You’re scaring me.”

“Sorry Morty,” Rick replies tersely. “Jesus fucking _christ _I am so sorry.”

Morty makes a small confused noise and Rick buries his nose in the kid’s hair, breathing in the smell of the strawberry shampoo he used in Echo Bath.

Grimacing, Rick shuts his eyes. “It wasn’t your fault, buddy,” he breathes, and smooths a hand through Morty’s hair which is now becoming wet with Rick’s tears. The caress seems to calm Morty a little. He finally shuts up and lies silently in Rick’s arms.

Rick doesn’t know what’s wrong with him as he sobs quietly in the darkness, wishing that _anything _could restore what was taken.

_They’ll pay, _he thinks, cupping the back of his grandson’s head. The thing that gutted out Morty’s mind, the thing that continues to torment him, the thing that fucking _raped _him…

_Whoever they are, _Rick scowls. _They’ll pay._

But not too far from the surface, Rick knows no price will ever be high enough. And the thought leaves Rick wrecked with despair.


	11. I Love The Way You Lie

_Just gonna stand there and watch me burn_  
_But that's alright, because I like the way it hurts_  
_Just gonna stand there and hear me cry_  
_But that's alright, because I love the way you lie_  
_I love the way you lie_

—Eminem ft. Rihanna, 'Love The Way You Lie'

* * *

Sleep does not come for Rick that night. He lies awake, holding Morty close and protective against himself as daylight gradually seeps beneath the curtains and into the dark sanctuary of the motel.

Morty sleeps peacefully curled against Rick, one a leg slung over Rick’s hip while his face remains pressed against Rick’s neck. Rick slides lazy fingers up and down the boy's back, running along his protruding vertebrae and pausing at the base of Morty’s spine where he feels a raised bump of scar tissue in more than one place.

Until now, Rick has never given much thought to the scars that aren’t on Morty’s legs. Some of them were from their adventures and others were from a childhood before Rick strode into his life. But now Rick studies them carefully, analysing each one with the scrupulous mind of a scientist.

Many of them he has dismissed as self-harm. But how many were really inflicted by Morty? How many were inflicted by Rick—even indirectly—and how many were caused by the entity that ripped away his virginity?

As Rick’s mind drifts to Morty’s virtue, Rick scowls and tries to keep his thoughts clear. He has spent an entire sleepless night trying not to get overwhelmed but this..._thing_ has him over the edge.

_Fuck_ he could really use a drink. He cuddles Morty closer instead. Usually Morty’s presence soothes him better than any pain killer, but this morning Morty’s motionlessness simply reminds Rick just how helpless he is and instead, Rick shuts his eyes and holds the boy close.

The kid has been the victim of brutal torture. And at the end of it all, whoever did it erased his memory. The why of it all was tricky at first, but now that he’s spent the night considering each detail, it isn’t hard to pinpoint the answer.

Whoever they were, like all torturers their goal was information. No doubt something they thought Morty knew. Something important enough that they would interrogate and torture Morty until he forfeited the information.

Rick can think of only one thing important enough to warrant such treatment: himself.

He disappeared for months didn’t he? Back when Morty was fourteen, he left Morty and his family safe on earth and turned himself in to the Government. But they weren’t safe were they? That Gromflamite dickhead on the phone fucking _lied_.

Summer, Jerry and Beth all seemed fine. They must have singled out Morty because he was Rick’s most-used companion. They wanted the secret to interdimensional travel and while fucking around with Rick’s mind, they simultaneously tortured Morty in the hope of finding clues.

How else would they have known to take him to Shoney’s? How else would they have known to ask him about his relationship with his family? It was all so obvious.

Revenge, Rick grins, will be phenomenal. The Intergalactic Government has been momentarily destroyed, crushed beneath the weight of its own hubris. But the SUM still exists and there are still plenty of planets in Federation-controlled space that Rick is going to burn.

Rick’s fingers travel over the base of Morty’s spine, over his hip, and slowly down the skin of the bare leg slung over Rick’s middle. He may have done it unconsciously, but Rick reasons that it is still license enough for him to touch. He runs his fingers up the underside of Morty’s thigh, feeling the flesh marred with his name.

As he holds Morty behind the knee, Rick’s thumb circles a larger raised knot of scar tissue that was likely caused by something bigger than a standard blade. Morty emits a muffled whimper of discomfort and Rick pulls his hand away, letting it land on Morty’s waist.

Rick continues mapping him. Feeling older—deeper—scars around Morty’s ribs. A particularly tender one lies close to Morty’s navel. And then Rick finally reaches a little lower...

A small hand claps around Rick’s wrist, stilling him. And Rick looks down at Morty who is staring up at him with sleep-dazed eyes.

Rick pulls his hand away from Morty’s grasp and lets it land unembarrassed upon Morty’s leg.

“Morning,” he says with a grin that he doesn’t mean. “Good to… good to know _one _of us slept well.”

Morty frowns. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“What _don’t _I mean?”

Rick’s hand strokes from behind Morty's knee and up his leg, gently squeezing his upper thigh.

Morty’s eyes widen and he lets out a squeak of surprise.

“W-We didn’t—?!”

“Nope,” Rick laughs. “Not quite.”

Morty looks away with a blush and Rick stretches his arms above his head before letting them rest behind his head.

It’s a lie of course. But it’s better Morty thinks Rick did this to him than some stranger. But Morty’s eyes narrow and Rick’s blood runs cold.

* * *

Morty can somehow sense the lie in his grandfather’s tone. Rick seems jovial, almost _proud_ of their sexual encounter. And while Rick is as amoral as a man can be, Morty’s instincts tell him something is seriously fucked up.

“Oh don’t—don’t give me that… that _look_, Morty!” Rick rolls his eyes dramatically before scrambling to his feet and sauntering into the bathroom. “Y-You’re the one who drank too much last night when I specifically told you not to,” Rick laughs.

Morty hears the muffled sound of Rick brushing his teeth and pulls the sheets tightly around himself. He’s clothed, mostly, save for his boxers. Morty timidly gets out of bed and fetches his T-shirt and jeans from the floor.

Strewn about on the dirty motel carpet, it certainly _looks _like Rick fucked him last night. But if they did that then wouldn’t Morty be able to feel something now? Wouldn’t he feel sore? Wouldn’t he feel _used?_

  
  


Something in Morty’s head fizzles in and out of focus.

  
  


He’s somewhere dark. There’s something dripping. Somebody’s coming…

  
  


Morty blinks and shakes his head and the motel room sputters and then sharpens in front of him. He’s still here. He’s still with Rick.

What the fuck _was _that?

Frowning, Morty presses the heel of his hand to his forehead and slumps down onto the bed. His brain feels weird, like he’s remembering only fractions of thought. But even more disturbing is that the memories aren’t unfamiliar. He’s experienced all this before. He’s sure of it.

“Morty?” Rick is suddenly standing in front of him looking irritated.

“S-Sorry.” Morty mumbles. “H-Headache…”

“Hangover’s suck, Morty. You should know that,” Rick tuts dismissively. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you some coffee and something greasy to clear that shit up.”

Morty nods, then frowns. “But Rick…” Morty narrows his eyes thoughtfully. “I didn’t have anything to drink last night.”

Rick freezes and Morty glares at him.

“I knew it!” Morty cries. “You—you didn’t—_we _didn’t do anything last night did we? You’re a fucking liar, Rick! And a bad one at that!”

“Okay, fine!” Rick rolls his eyes and shrugs. “Was trying to—_errp—_save you from that crap but I—_brehhp—_guess you jus-jus-just wanna do everything the hard way don’t you, _Morty__?_”

“You can’t… you can’t fucking _do _that, Rick!” Morty cries, leaping to his feet and causing his head to throb painfully. “You can’t muck about with someone’s memory like that!”

Rick’s eyes widen.

“Morty I didn—”

“I know you didn’t use the memory gun,” Morty interrupts, “but this is—this is—l-lying to me isn’t any better, Rick!” Trembling, Morty looks at the floor. “What happened?” he asks nervously. “What happened to me last night?”

“Morty—” Rick begins to say something but then cuts himself off. “Okay, look, I don’t know okay? I found you and you were looking pretty messed up. I’m pretty sure you were roofied but I don’t think anyone fucked you.”

“How do you kn—”

“Morty we—we don’t need to go into details okay?” Rick has his hands raised in front of him as though warding off a bad smell. “Remember our motto, Morty? Don’t—_hic—_don’t think about it.”

“Rick I…”

“Uh uh uh! T-tehh… I-I said don’t think about it!”

Rick takes a hurried swig from his flask and Morty watches worriedly as Rick sways on his feet. He then pulls out his portal-gun and begins nervously twiddling the wheel around. Morty watches it land on 0000 before the numbers begin to climb. Then he twiddles it again and the numbers drop to 0000 once again.

Morty mentally takes a step back and looks properly at his grandfather. The man looks wrecked. Like he hasn’t slept a wink. It’s becoming hard to tell how much of Rick’s erratic behaviour his drunkenness and how much is simply exhaustion.

The man looks ill—tormented—and Morty’s annoyance at Rick’s evasive tactics softens to something more empathetic.

He knows on some level that Rick hates to see him in pain. If Rick’s drinking this heavily, something really horrible must have happened last night.

Something warm and alive stirs within Morty’s chest.

Rick is… is Rick trying to _protect_ him?

Morty reaches out a timid hand and places it on Rick’s forearm. Rick jerks away at the sudden contact and moves to conceal the portal-gun, as though the object is the symbol of great shame.

“Rick I… I think it’s nice that you looked after me last night, man. You didn’t have to do that. Th-thank you.” Morty moves his hand to Rick’s shoulder and Rick immediately slaps it away. Feeling hurt, Morty takes a nervous step backwards.

Rick doesn’t look at him.

“Your—your mother wouldn’t accept me back if I let anything happen to you, Morty.” Rick states flatly.

“I don’t think that’s the reason you looked after me, Rick.” Morty murmurs. “Or the reason for any of this.”

Rick, as though sensing what is about to be said immediately begins speak very, very fast; stumbling over his words and drooling in the process. “Morty, I… I think you’ve got a rrrreally se-serious addiction problem. You’re addicted to your own mess and you think—y-y-you’ve gone and equated real—real feelings w-with—” Rick reels. “Oh man, I need to siddown for a second...”

“Here,” Morty offers his arm so that Rick can steady himself, carefully lowering him into a sitting position on the bed. Rick rocks himself back and forth, his hands planted firmly on his thighs. Morty watches him, a fragile looking man who is as helpless as he is powerful. Morty sees him, knows him, and even with all his faults Morty knows he will follow him to oblivion.

Morty swallows. Choosing his next words carefully.

“Rick,” Morty says bravely. “I think I’ve fallen in lo—”

“_Jesus Christ, Morty!_” Rick suddenly shoots to his feet and staggers backwards in horror. “You—holy fucking—no, Morty, _n__o! _Okay? I s-said this was meant to be—to be _casual_, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah I know.” Morty explains carefully. “And I understand if you don’t feel the same way.”

Rick won’t look at him and Morty suddenly feels disgusting. Like he’s just confessed that he has an STD.

Rick begins pacing back and forth.

“I… I’m not sure where it started, Rick,” Morty begins, “but I…”

“You’re just a stupid fucking _addict, _Morty!” Rick suddenly spits out. “You… you swallow down pills like they’re candy, you drink to fall asleep, you’re addicted to pain. And now you’re stupid enough to convince yourself you’re in—you’re in—” Rick shakes his head, his face agonized. “But you’re _not_, Morty. If you had even _half _my intellect you’d see this for what it is! You’re just chasing down another high.”

Rick suddenly stares at the ground with a look of absolute abject anguish. Morty frowns at him.

“Rick?”

“You’re just chasing another high,” Rick repeats and then says quietly. “Just like I am.”

Rick won’t look him in the eye.

Morty’s gut clenches.

“Morty, I think you know that someone really hurt you last night. You weren’t raped but—” and Rick tells him. He tells Morty about the semen on his back and the needle in his arm. Morty looks down and, sure enough, there is a small scab and a purpling bruise forming in the crook of his elbow. When Rick’s finished and Morty still hasn’t said anything Rick finally glares at him.

“Doesn’t that… doesn’t any of that _bother_ you?”

“It’s fine, Rick.” Morty assures him. “I’m fine.”

* * *

When Rick looks at him he can see the kid’s telling the truth:  
Morty is fine.

  
  


  
  


And _that’s _the problem.

  
  


  
  


Rick’s mind flicks back over the memories of the past year and a half. Morty waltzing into danger under Rick’s orders as if it were nothing. Morty lying good and docile beneath him while Rick groped and mouthed at him. Morty waking up from a night of torture—god, Rick fucking _whipped _him—only to smile appreciatively at Rick just for being alive. Morty initiating kisses when he could sense Rick wanted him. Dream-Morty allowing Rick to roll him over and fuck him...

  
  


Shame, strong and thick, crashes over him like a wave of tar and Rick’s head spins.

  
  


Morty _expects_ to be used.

  
  


“Morty I…” Rick gulps. “This has gotta stop, Morty.”

“What?” Morty’s face goes white. “But Rick! My parents—”

“Fuck, Morty!” Rick throws his hands up in the air in exasperation. “I wasn’t talking about that. I was talking about… _us._”

“Huh?”

“What we— y-you know this isn’t normal, right?”

Morty doesn’t speak.

“Morty I fucking _raped yo__u!_ Th-th-that last night we spent on earth? When we made out and… and then you fell asleep in my room?”

“Your birthday.”

“Morty!” There’s an emotion brewing in the pit of Rick’s stomach that he can’t name. It isn’t quite anger and it isn’t quite despair. But it’s gnawing at his every nerve, biting harder with every beat of his thudding—_breaking_—heart.

_(It’s _guilt_ you moronic asshole!)_

“I went inside your dreams, Morty.” Rick confesses. “I was… I was trying to find—” Rick hastily cuts himself off.

But he’s already said too much. Morty’s expression has turned suddenly dark, his eyes narrow in suspicion.

“Trying to find _what_ Rick?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Uh-uh. You—you broke into my mind searching for something, th-the same way you broke into my bedroom searching for liquor and razor blades, I… I wanna know. I wanna what it is you felt entitled to see, Rick.”

Rick grits his teeth.

“Fine.” Rick turns and looks his grandson in the face. “You really want to fucking know so badly?” Morty looks up at Rick defiantly and Rick continues. “You were—you were fucking _broken_, Morty. You weren’t eating, you _barely _slept! You got people to beat you up for money, you threw yourself into danger—despite my orders—as though you _wanted _something to take you out, and you had panic attacks over… wh-whenever you were in small spaces.” Rick’s eyes narrow. “And if _that _weren’t enough. No matter what I do to you, you just sit there and fucking _take _it. No matter how much it hurts you or humiliates you, no matter how dangerous or wrong it is, you just let me—”

Rick trails off. Self-disgust bubbles in his throat and he chokes it back down to focus his attention back where it belongs.

“Morty, none of that stuff is normal. S-something was obviously wrong and you gave me _nothing. _Y-You wouldn’t let me help you. And when I tried to ask, you dissociated. So I…” Rick shrugs in a poor imitation of nonchalance. “I broke in in order to find the source of the problem. I wanted to find the source of the trauma and…”

“And _what?_”

Morty’s tone is low.

_I wanted to hunt down and torture whoever hurt you. I wanted justice. I wanted everything I believed to be beneath me. I wanted… _

“Rick!”

“Look it’s...” Rick glares at him, “i-it’s complicated, Morty. Fixing humans is complicated.”

“I never asked you to fix me!”

“You never had to!”

_I wanted to..._

Morty’s panting, angry tears welling in his big brown eyes.

“Where does ‘_rape’_ come into it?”

“You were dreaming about being back in the hospital. You were...”_ Thin, small, vulnerable and unable to say no._ “You were just kind of _there _and so I...” Rick shrugs, “yeah, so I fucked you.”

“Did I protest?”

“A little.”

“Struggle?”

“No.”

Morty glares up at Rick.

Rick’s thoughts solidify into something awful and honest:

  
  


_I wanted to be your hero._

  
  


“Don’t you get it, Rick?” Morty doesn’t sound angry. “You’re the smartest thing in the universe right? That means a part of you must _get it_, right?” Tears pour down the kid’s cheeks and Rick can only watch helplessly. “You…. I don’t care if all you do is use me, but at least—” Morty hiccups awkwardly. “—at l-least _tell_ me when you do. At least let me r-remember it.” Morty is suddenly sobbing. “Please, Rick. Please don’t erase any more memories! Please let me remember you!”

“Oh for—” Rick rages. “You fucking idiot! I don’t want to fucking use you anymore! I—”

Rick immediately knows he’s said the wrong thing. Morty’s face has gone from anguished to completely blank and Rick is reminded of Morty when he dissociates. Morty’s eyes stare through Rick as though he can barely see him… like something deep inside Morty has finally cracked. The disquieting expression doesn’t change when Rick attempts to take back the awkward statement.

“Oh come on, idiot, you know I didn’t mean it like—”

“It’s fine.” Morty’s voice doesn’t quiver or stutter. “I understand.”

“Morty, come… come _on. _You— where the fuck are you going?”

Morty walks, as though in a trance, toward the door and Rick watches him worriedly.

“Morty…”

But Morty doesn’t speak. He’s out the door in a second, slamming it behind him, and Rick pales when he hears footsteps running full-pelt away from their motel room.

_Dammit! _The kid knows now that this city is fucking _dangerous._ He’s seriously going to bolt head-first into unfamiliar streets? Is Morty really that fucking _dumb?_

Oh who is Rick kidding?

Rick makes a move to the door but immediately his phone buzzes and he’s forced to answer it. Daisy knows not to call him unless it is urgent.

“What?!”

“Rick? Is this a bad time?”

“It’s always a bad time, Daisy.” Rick snarls.

Daisy has gone suddenly silent and Rick groans.

“What the fuck is it, Delilah?”

“Um… oh um… I think it’s probably best explained in person but I think I know… I think I know where—_oh my god!_”

A loud bang can be heard on the other end of the line.

“Rick! Th-the club! It’s being—”

The phone goes dead and Rick drops it at his side.

Great, there’s one of his side-hustles down the drain and it sounds like Daisy had some pretty important news to share too. He whips out the old Dipshit Device and thumbs through the applications until he finds the tracking device. It sputters and Rick realizes with some impatience that the stupid thing’s motherboard has fried.It’s fixable, of course. But even he can’t fix it without the contents of his workshop.

Rick sits down on the end of the bed, his head in his hands.

“Great.” He says out loud to no one. “Now I’m gonna have to improvise.”


	12. Ashes

_When I was a man I thought it ended_   
_When I knew love's perfect ache_   
_But my peace has always depended_   
_On all the ashes in my wake_

— Hozier, “Arsonist's Lullaby”

* * *

“Diane for f— just— j-just _listen_ for a sec!”

“No, Rick. I’m not putting up with this for a second longer!” Diane rounds on him. “I have given you _everything_, I have loved you and cared for you and I have done everything you have ever asked of me and you don’t get to deny me the one thing I want in return.”

“And what’s th-that?”

“I want you to leave me alone!”

Rick laughs. “Don’t—_brerhhrrrp_—you don’t me_EH_n that, Diane. G-get b-_errp!-_ack here.”

“No Rick,” Diane shoves against him when Rick wraps a hand around her arm. “Get _off _me! I said _no!”_

“Y-Y-You—You’re in n-no position to talk about giving someone everything, _Diane!” _Rick snaps. “_I _gave you—_hehp_—everything! I know what it means to actually _have_ everything so I FUCKING KNOW WHAT IT MEANS TO GIVE IT ALL UP FOR SOMEONE!”

Diane rolls her eyes.

“You’re drunk.”

Rick roars, seizing the nearest object—a framed picture—and hurling it. He misses by a mile but Diane still flinches and then turns a cold gaze upon him.

“Real nice, Rick.” She says nastily.

“You bitch!”

“Yep.”

Tears begin welling in Rick’s eyes and despite everything he can feel himself cracking. He’s losing control in a way he never thought possible. The liquor is fuelling the anger which in turn gives way to misery, misery lends itself to frustration, frustration escalates to more anger and then, recognising it, Rick feels himself panic and gives in to despair.

He’s about to lose everything.

“I…” Rick bawls. “I’m sorry! I’m _sorry_, Diane! Can’t y-you… can’t you see that?”

“I know.” Diane replies resolutely. “But, Rick, I can’t jeopardise the safety of this family just because I’m scared you’ll leave again. And you...”

“Don’t say it!”

“Rick you _know..._”

“—Please don’t!”

“You. Can’t. Change.”

They both stare at each other for a moment. And Rick feels it—really _feels_ it—for the first time. She’d threatened to divorce several times and each time, a nice trip somewhere, an erased memory here and there, a _good experience _of some kind managed to convince her to stay his.

But no more.

Beth’s clothes were singed and the house nearly burned down. But the worst part was Rick had been _home_ this time. Home and able to spend time with her and he had simply chosen not to. Beth became enamoured with a prototype proton cannon and had burned her hands quite badly. It was an easy fix for Rick but it was the last straw for Diane.

“I’m sorry, Rick.” Diane says miserably. “I… I mean that, I really do. I will always love you and I think… I think you love me too. Or at least you did once.”

“I do!” Rick insists. “You and Beth! Oh—_oh fuck_—Diane! You have no idea. I _love_ you both so much!”

“I know.” Diane nods sadly. “But you _hate_ the multiverse so much more.”

* * *

Morty’s taken the ship.

This, while insolent, is actually a good thing. Rick installed a positioning device for the ship the first time he taught Morty to drive it. He locates it easily and—after charging it at the wall for twenty minutes—he opens the screen and finds the ship with ease.

Morty is awkwardly steering his way through the Xerxes Star System and Rick’s blood chills.

Xerxes is _way_ too close to Federation Space and Morty’s driving is erratic, as though he’s been drinking. Even worse: Morty’s heading straight for the Planet Phthonus’ Ring System.

The kid’s going to get himself killed out there!

Rick runs through the room, gathering supplies. Weaponry, medical equipment, his space exploration gear, an extra astronaut helmet… anything he can think of that may be necessary before leaping through a newly generated portal after his idiot grandson.

He checks the positioning device one more time, adjusting the coordinates on the portal-gun.

Rick freezes.

The positioning device is glowing blue.

The ship has crashed.

* * *

Dazed, Morty lifts his heavy head from the dashboard. Everything is spinning and he feels nauseous. The top of his head is numb with pain. Outside, he can see he’s landed on either a small moon or a large asteroid. It’s cold out. Cold and quiet. But the air is apparently breathable, which is lucky.

_Odd, _Morty wonders. He doesn’t remember putting on his seatbelt, but there it is. Morty unbuckles it and makes a move to get out of the vehicle.

“**User, Morty. Smith.” **The ship surprises him by saying and Morty starts in alarm.

“Uh… sp-speaking?” Morty replies nervously.

“**I would advise that you stay inside the vehicle.”**

“Yeah? And why’s that?” Morty asks coldly.

“**My orders are to Keep. Morty. Safe.”**

“Since when?” Morty says sharply. “This is—n-news to me.”

“**Since Rick. Sanchez. Administrator. Provided me with a new operative.”**

“Okay fine, don’t tell me then,” Morty sits back in his seat and folds his arms. “So why do you—do you want me to stay here?”

“**According to my most recent records, this vehicle was stolen by Morty. Smith. And therefore you should wait here for Rick. Sanchez. To find you.”**

“Yeah? Well too bad,” Morty replies angrily, “I’m not—I’m not Rick’s pet, y’know, I’m leaving.”

“**That is ill-advised.”**

“Yeah, well, what’re you gonna do about it?” Morty challenges.

“**I am unable to stop you from leaving the vehicle.”**

Morty eyes the inside of the ship suspiciously.

“**To clarify,” **the ship elaborates, as though sensing Morty’s trepidation, **“I am quite able to stop you from leaving the vehicle.”**

“Then why—”

“**You will not permit it.”**

“Hmf,” Morty glares. “That’s...that’s never stopped Rick before. Why would Rick care whether I granted you permission to let me go?”

“**My orders are to Keep. Morty. Safe. Not to understand the emotional motivations behind human decision making.” **The ship replies tersely. Morty rolls his eyes. **“But if I were to guess, I would say it is because Rick **_**also**_** wishes to Keep. Morty. Safe.”**

“Well, I got news for you, he doesn’t care about me anymore than the rest of the universe does.” Morty slips out of the drivers’ seat and out of the car. He brushes broken glass from his shirt and slams the car door behind him.

“**Replaying operative order...” **

“No, no don’t bother,” Morty interrupts. But Rick’s overly loud—and obviously inebriated—voice is suddenly crying out from the vehicle.

“Okay, okay, and I want less salt in my martini next time and Ship? Now that he’s—now that he’s dr-driving… oh fuck why am I getting all… all emotional like this?” Morty hears Rick sniff loudly followed by the unmistakable sound of him wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Make sure you—make sure you keep Morty safe, understand?” Morty hears Rick hiccup loudly before adding a quick addendum: “But you—but you still gotta take orders from him y’hear? He’s gonna be… he’s gonna be your number one driver someday so keep him safe but don’t—y’know—get in his way or anything. Kay? Got that? It’s not gonna be like Summer. Summer’s too… what’s the word? _Human. _She got all emotional about it that time. But Morty, he’s… he’s different. He’ll get the job done. So keep him safe. But don’t stop him from doing what he’s gotta do alright?”

The recording stops and Morty stares at the empty vehicle for a moment. It’s lonely here on this asteroid. Lonely, cold, and quiet. Again, Morty remembers his impromptu field trip to the moon he once took with Rick. But this time, Morty is breathing without artificial assistance and this time there is no sun to rise over the horizon.

“Ship,” Morty orders. “I need my jet-pack, my space suit, and my gun.”

The boot springs open immediately and Morty begins rummaging for his supplies. He slips into the suit and then throws the jet-pack onto his back. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the bone-coloured business card. He turns it over and swipes his thumb across the black lettering.

“Ship,” Morty demands, “list all of Izroth’s most well-known products.”

“**Izroth****TM **** Industrial and Commercial Vehicles. Izroth****TM ****Food and Drink Processing. Malachite Guitars and Amps—a subsidiary of Izroth****TM.****”**

“Okay, okay, I get the point, they’re a big motherfucking company that sells everything from energy drinks to retirement plans.”

“**Izroth****TM ****no longer supplies a retirement plan. Izroth****TM ****SuperSmart Retirement Plan was recently repurposed.” **

“To what?” Morty snickers. “A private prison?”

“**Correct.”**

Morty laughs. It would figure wouldn’t it? But then something slots into place and Morty almost trips over his words. “Ship? Ship, could you—could you tell me who the number one client of Izroth Prison is?”

“**Izroth****TM ****prison appears to mostly cater to criminals of the Intergalactic Federal Government.”**

Morty looks up and makes another command. “Ship, show me coordinates to Izroth Prison.”

Immediately, a holographic map shines into life and Morty’s gaze zeroes in on one particular location.

“Thanks.”

Morty turns away from the ship. He’s only seen the coordinates for a moment but its enough to know he has enough supplies to get him there. It will only take an hour—two hours maybe—tops.

“**What are you planning to do?”** the ship asks suddenly.

“I have no idea,” Morty replies honestly. “But...if I’m right, then Izroth is probably holding onto my parents and sister. I guess I’ll see you round if—if y’know—if Rick rebuilds you. If not, well, um…” suddenly Morty feels a little sorry for it, as though the ship that was mostly made from repurposed car parts is in fact sentient, “...goodbye, I guess.”

The ship does not respond.

* * *

Rick leaps through the portal to the asteroid, terrified of what he may find. The haunting image of Morty’s broken body amidst the smoldering pieces of his vehicle are what first springs to mind and Rick is relieved to find the ship mostly still intact.

“Morty!” Rick yells, sprinting to the drivers’ side door and throwing it open. “Morty you idi—”

Morty’s gone.

Rick’s insides turn cold.

“No...” Rick whispers. “No, no, no… oh fuck...” Rick slams his fist against the metal roof of the ship and barks. “Ship! Where the fuck did he go?!”

There is a nasty pause.

“**Rick. Sanchez. Adm—”**

“I know who I am!” Rick shouts. “Where’s Morty?”

“**User. Morty. Smith. Has left to find Izroth****TM ****Prison.****”**

“Why the fuck would he—” Rick sighs and almost laughs. _Of course. _Rick shakes his head. _His fucking parents and sister. _

Jabbing his fingers at the buttons on the portal gun and then twisting the knob, Rick sets the coordinates for Izroth Prison.

“Ship,” Rick asks, immediately dreading the answer. “How many guards are at Izroth Prison?”

“**One.”**

Rick raises an eyebrow. But the ship does not elaborate. He punches in the last few coordinates and then fires the portal-gun, praying he arrives at his destination before Morty.

* * *

  
  


Izroth Prison is not what Morty expected.

The place certainly feels dank and unpleasant. But there are exposed dripping pipes everywhere Morty looks, the ground is soft instead of firm, and—perhaps most eerie of all—there doesn’t seem to be a single soul in sight. There are no jumpsuits, no guards, not even a cleaner.

Morty gulps and readies his blaster. There’s a good chance he’ll run into trouble if he isn’t careful.

A noise up ahead catches Morty’s attention and he quickly ducks behind a wall that seems to lead into a closet. He waits several moments but when no other noises are heard, Morty tentatively peeks around the corner.

It seems the source of the noise was nothing but a rat knocking over another pipe. Morty sighs and leans against the wall in relief only to immediately jerk himself away again.

The wall does not feel like a wall. When Morty turns around, the structure at least_ appears_ solid. But being close to it Morty feels something smooth, warm, and soft. Almost like the grey structure is made of flesh.

Morty begins to back away only for a hand to suddenly clamp down on his shoulder. Letting out a shriek, Morty turns around and fires his blaster.

“Morty! You fucking idiot!” Rick yells. The blast glances off whatever invisible body-armour Rick was wearing and fires off into the distance. A loud rumble can be heard and the ground trembles, startling them both.

Rick and Morty both hold still for a moment, both balancing themselves on the uneven ground and also scouring the corridor for danger.

When nothing else happens, Rick turns on Morty again.

“Do you—do you have any _idea_ how dangerous this place could be? God you—you’re so fucking stupid, Morty! You might have killed us _both_ you know that?”

“Yeah? Well...maybe I don’t fucking care anymore!” Morty snaps back. “My goal was to save my parents and Summer and that’s what I’m gonna do.”

Morty turns away from Rick only for Rick to seize his wrist. Morty whirls around to glare at him.

“Don’t you go wandering off again you little—you little turd! I’m sick of having to chase after you.”

“Maybe I don’t care whether you chase after me.”

“Oh yeah?” Rick counters angrily. “And wh-what happens when you—when you actually _find_ your family, Morty? How are you gonna get them home? Are you gonna just _whine_ at them until they magically appear in the living room? What the fuck was your plan exactly if it didn’t involve me?”

“I...” Morty wants to retort at Rick in some way but Rick just looks furious and Morty can’t think of anything because, as usual, Rick’s right.

There’s no way he could have done this without him.

“Exactly, Morty!” Rick rolls his eyes and Morty looks away in furious embarrassment, his cheeks flushing. “Now gimme your gun.”

“What?!”

“I’m re-revoking your blaster privileges,” Rick holds out his hand and looks impatient.

“Fine!” Morty huffs and hands Rick the blaster.

“Man...” Rick says thoughtfully as he stuffs the blaster into his coat pocket, “is it gross in here. Ergh! It smells like piss. A-and why does everything look like a wiener?”

“Why are you asking me, Rick?” Morty pouts crossly as they continue down the dripping corridor. “I’m new here too.”

“Well either way, H.R. Giger eat your heart out am I right?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Oof! And it’s kinda claustrophobic too!” Rick continues. “How did they march prisoners through here?”

Morty frowns.

“H-hey yeah, Rick. That’s a good—a good question,” Morty looks around worriedly. “And it’s kind of weird that there aren’t any cells either. I mean… shouldn’t there be bars somewhere?”

Rick looks very uneasy for a moment and his voice suddenly sounds soft.

“Not all prisons have bars, Morty.”

“Hm?”

“Anyway, keep moving. Your yammering is gonna attract whatever guard has been watching over this place.”

Suddenly Morty feels furious. He stamps his foot in anger and whirls around to glare at Rick.

“My _yammering_?!” he cries. “You… you know it’s not like you _had _to follow me here, Rick. You coulda just left me out here to rot.”

“Morty, you have no idea what could _be _here!” Rick counters. “So will you keep your mouth shut already?”

“Oh I’ll keep my mouth shut, Rick. I’ll keep my mouth shut when you tell me why you even came with me in the first place? Why’d you agree to help me, Rick? Why’d you do that?”

“For goodness’ sake Morty, Beth’s my _daughter!_”

“No she isn’t!” Morty is suddenly shouting. Rick’s eyes are wide and alert, looking this way and that for anything that could be lurking around the next corner. But Morty doesn’t care. Let whatever’s in this awful place finally fucking find them. “You _abandoned_ your daughter back in Dimension C-137! And that’s assuming she’s the _first_ family member you’ve abandoned.”

Rick suddenly looks enraged. His face is white, his eyes are narrow slits.

“You don’t know what the _fuck_ you’re talking about, Morty!”

“Don’t I?” Morty challenges. Somehow Rick’s rage is only spurring him on to dig deeper. After all, if Rick thought Morty’s thoughts were fair game to rifle through, Morty’s only exercising a little payback. “How many _Morties_ have you been through, Rick? Am I your second? Your third? Or has it been more than that?”

“For fuck’s sake!” Rick looks like he might laugh, which makes Morty’s throat burn with anger. “Is _that_ what you’re worried about? That you’re not my first?”

_It’s kind of a good question, _Morty has to admit. Why would that even bother him?

Another noise can be heard up ahead and Rick grabs Morty’s shirt in order to steer him around a corner and into the shadows.

“God you’re even more annoying now than you were that time in season one,” Rick groans when they can both see that the coast is clear.

“What are you talking about?” Morty asks, irritated.

“What do you mean, ‘what am I talking about?’” Rick counters. “You remember, back in season one? We went to that big Red X planet and there was that—that big-as dome thingy with all those naked Morties strapped to it?” Rick shudders. “God, it was like Neverland Ranch or something…”

Morty blinks.

Everything sways for a second.

“No…” Morty says slowly.

“Morty c’mon, keep—keep moving!” Rick barks at him as he pushes him out of the shadows and into the corridor. “It was after your first time at the Citadel.”

“No…” everything dips into shadow for a fraction of a second and Morty is struggling to see. It’s hard to balance and he stumbles forward awkwardly. “No… we…” Morty blinks away the darkness and then frowns at Rick. “We never… I’ve only once ever been to the Citadel, Rick. And it was with Summer.”

“Pfft!” Rick scoffs. “Wow. Low IQ and a memory like a fucking sieve.”

“I mean it, Rick.” Morty insists. “I’ve never… I never went to a Red X planet. I never went to the Citadel.”

Rick doesn’t say anything, he turns around to look at Morty more carefully and Morty has the uncanny feeling that he’s being x-rayed. Hell, maybe he is. He’s pretty sure he remembers one of Rick’s eyes being cybernetic.

“Morty…?” Rick says gently. “Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine,” Morty snaps.

The pair keep walking. The corridors continue to change shape as they go. Sometimes feeling narrower or more cylindrical, other times they feel too wide. The entire experience is slowly starting to feel less like a prison and more like a labyrinth. And the incessant dripping from the creepy flesh-like walls is starting to make Morty’s head swim and his chest clench with anxiety.

“H-how long have we been here?” Morty finally asks.

Rick looks down at his watch.

“Four hours,” Rick replies. “Time flies when you’re having fun, huh?” he says sarcastically.

“Rick, shouldn’t we have found something by now?”

“Must be a big prison…” Rick says flatly but his expression gives his thoughts away. Rick’s uneasy too. He doesn’t like the place and it is suspicious how long they have been here and how empty the place is.

“Izroth prison…” Morty murmurs. “I _did_ get the coordinates right. This is definitely Izroth Prison.”

“If you hadn’t, I’d know,” Rick responds. “Hang on a second Mor-Morty, I’m gonna… I’m gonna check something…”

Rick pulls out his portal gun and leans against a nearby wall only to have the same reaction that Morty did.

“_Jeezus! _What the hell?!” Rick cries out in alarm.

“Yeah, it freaked me out too!” Morty starts. “If feels gross, huh? Almost like—”

“Skin.”

“Um. Yeah…”

Rick backs away from the wall in horror before glancing down at the coordinates entered into the portal gun. He suddenly turns to Morty. “Morty, I just figured out where we really are!”

Morty doesn’t like the look of abject disgust on Rick’s worried face.

“The coordinates I entered into the portal gun were to locate The Head of Izroth Corp.

“And...and is he here?” Morty asks.

“Morty, we’re _in it!_” Rick shouts. “We’re _inside_ the Head of Izroth!”

Morty’s insides turn cold. “WHAT?!”

Rick grips Morty’s shoulders.

“Remember...remember how I said the people on Floopynaps worship corporations as though they’re gods? Looks like Izroth was, at some point, a celestial entity that was hollowed out in the name of consumerism.”

Morty’s mouth falls open, aghast. Of _course_. Izroth was a demon-god that always seemed to be depicted without a head.

“Oh jeez! Oh man! Oh jeez!” Morty gasps.

“W-We gotta get out of here,” says Rick. “You got here using the coordinates for Izroth Prison right?”

“Oh fuck me! Oh… oh my god!” Morty can’t think. It’s all too horrifying! Rick has suddenly grabbed his shoulders again and is yelling into Morty’s face.

“The coordinates, Morty!” Rick yells.

“The coordinates?” Morty bites back the panic that is beginning to claw it’s way to the forefront and nods. “Yeah, I used the coordinates for Izroth Prison.”

“That’s because this isn't a prison owned by Izroth, this is a prison _for _Izroth. Whoever’s in charge, Morty, they’re the warden here that’s keeping Izroth prisoner. Heh...” Rick suddenly looks amused. “I thought it was weird that there was only one guard here.”

“Aw jeez, Rick. If they’re strong enough to keep a god locked up, they must be pretty powerful.”

“So does that mean you finally understand, Morty Smith?”

Both Rick and Morty turn to see Falkor Skyrocket slowly walking toward them.

* * *

“Morty, who is this joker?” Rick asks rudely.

The man doesn’t even bother to look at Rick. His shining green eyes only stare at Morty in a hungry manner that Rick seriously doesn’t like.

Before anyone can blink, the man raises a weapon—held tightly in what Rick notes is a shoddy robotic hand—and points it at Morty.

Morty looks terrified for the last time before the man pulls the trigger and the boy is suddenly disintigrated, leaving only a cloud of black ash. Where the once stood an innocent kid there was now nothing.

“MORTY!” Rick cries and lunges at the empty space only for tiny particles of nothing to land in his shaking hands. _Morty_…

Rick is suddenly unable to think.

_Morty… Morty… Morty… _

Rick doesn’t touch his blaster, his plasma cannon, or the myriad of weapons stuffed inside his lab coat. Instead, Rick raises his robotic arm and aims it at the smug—incredibly_ foolish—_man standing before him.

“_You..._” Rick begins but the man simply places his hands on his hips and smiles, unintimidated.

“Oh dear,” the man laughs. “Looks like I’ve gone and—”

Rick’s top lip curls and he fires. The blast from his arm reverberates around the corridor, setting the grey dripping pipes—no, not pipes, _veins_ and other body parts—suddenly aflame.

Surrounded by the insides of a burning god, Rick looks at his enemy who remains irreverently unharmed.

“Wow! Fiery temper you have there! Not to worry though, not to worry.” The man chortles. “That wasn’t anything lethal, it was just a teleportation ray. Old trick, haha!”

Rick scowls.

“Where is he?”

“Come downstairs and see him,” the man shrugs. And with that, he fizzles out and disappears.

Rick’s arm morphs back into its human shape. He looks around for an elevator or a flight of stairs. Flames lick the walls around him and Rick is vaguely aware of their heat as he fires a portal.

Perhaps it wasn’t real, but as far as Rick is concerned he just witnessed Morty get disintegrated. That is sin for which there will be no quarter. 

He has work to do.


	13. Coffin

_A message to my enemies  
Thanks for being in my fairy tale_

—Allday, "Coffin"

* * *

“_Rick!” _

Rick races towards Morty’s location. The inside of Izroth’s head burns hotter with every step, the air itself is nothing but foul fumes, and Rick can hardly bring himself to care.

“Rick! Please don—”

He speeds into the open area to find himself engulfed in blistering heat. He is standing on a flimsy mesh platform that runs around a circular room, in the middle is a second hexagonal platform which looks to be a reactor, harvesting energy from Izroth’s core. Upon it, Morty stands with his back to him, his hands and feet both in restraints.

“Rick!” Morty whirls around to face him and their eyes meet. Rick immediately recognizes the fear in the boy’s expression and freezes. “Don’t come any closer! It’s a trap! He—”

But Morty is suddenly kicked in the stomach and thrown to the side, nearly sliding over the edge and into the molten core below.

Rick’s top lip curls into a snarl at the boy’s assailant and he reaches into his breast pocket for his blaster.

“Well now...” the man moron coos as he lifts Morty by his hair, the phallicly named fool is using the boy as a human shield and the sight fills Rick's throat with disgust. “It’s good to finally meet you Rick Sanchez_._”

Rick can see Morty’s bruises from here and realizes with a twist in his gut that Morty has probably been badly beaten while being held by this creep.

Oh well. Rick has to admit that if there’s one thing the kid is good at, it’s taking beatings.

_Just hold on a little bit longer, _Rick silently promises, _I'll be there soon._

“Who the fuck are you supposed to be?” Rick asks coldly. The man resembles a cliché folk-hero type. Blonde, tall, broad-shouldered and obviously muscular beneath his skin-tight military uniform. Rick wonders momentarily if this joker ordered a shirt a size too small just so he could show off.

“_I_,” the man smiles politely, “am the one who hired Krombopulos Michael. The one fronting the SUM. The one who hired Derek Slartyfarst _and_ the one who has been watching you for some time Mr. Sanchez.”

“_Rick_’ll do.” Rick corrects him but immediately regrets it when the man’s smile widens.

“Oh no, no no I don’t think so. I think you’d much prefer to be called _Rick C-137_,” the man tuts.

Rick stills.

“So you know.”

“I know enough.”

“Yeah, well, so do I.” Rick replies with a casual shrug. “I know all about you Phallus Scrotumrocket.”

Morty coughs out a "Nice!" which causes Rick to inadvertently puff up with pride. 

“Is that right?”

“You’re—_erp!—_damn right it is. Read the—read the whole character bio and then some.”

The blonde idiot’s smile widens as Rick goes on.

“Tactical genius, top of his command, unhealthily attached to his intern—”

“Secretary.” The officer's tone chills at the mention of the man and Rick grins.

“Whazzizname? Wrinkly?”

“Winkler.”

“_That’s_ the one. Might not wanna get too close to your subordinates in the future. You never know when they might be used as… _leverage.”_

“You—” Skyrocket snarls but Rick says nothing and instead holds up his phone for the man to see. There’s a picture there: Winkler bound and gagged with the TNT Rick ordered Daisy and her friends to strap to his chest (you gotta love the classics). The man's face pales. “You son of a bitch!

“You just kicked my grandson in the stomach, you do _not _get to call the shots here asshole!” Rick suddenly barks.

The officer is silent for a moment before Rick continues.

“Like I said, I did a lot of research on the great and terrible Falkor Skyrocket. First Class. Top graduate of… Burkenridge State High School.”

Falkor’s eyes widen.

“You had a different name back then didn’t you?” Rick smiles. “Randy Wallace.”

“Pfft!” Morty bursts out laughing from his curled-up position at Falkor’s feet. “And I thought _Mortimer_ was bad.”

“Not very popular were you Randy? Can I call you Randy? Or do you prefer Wally?”

“Fuck you!”

Rick chortles. “Your grades were pretty good—highest in the country in fact—and it sounds like someone got picked on a bit. And then what? You somehow _stumbled_ into a portal when you were in college and you thought it made you _special?_”

“It was destiny! I was _meant_ to lead. I was _chosen_ to protect the universe from entities like you!”

“It was a freak accident,” Rick rolls his eyes. “You think you’re the first poor soul to slip through the cracks of reality? No one yanked you out of your humdrum life and placed you into a role of importance. No one exists on purpose, Wally. No one’s_ destined_ to do anything. And the universe? The universe is like a wild animal. It's not going to notice—let alone _care—_if you save it or not. It’s just going to go on devouring and shitting out whatever it wants.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I’ve been around a _long_ time, Wally—”

“Falkor!”

“—I’ve seen this shit dozens of times,” Rick shakes his head.

“I was _destined _to be here!” Mr. Phallic shouts again. “I...I was the smartest man on my planet!”

“Really bro?” Rick’s voice darkens to something low, dangerous and impatient. “One planet’s smartest man is no more threat to me than the planet’s smartest _ant_.”

At that moment, Rick witnesses something hard inside Falkor finally crack as the unfortunate man finally begins to understand exactly who he is speaking to.

“Now… I know you didn’t nut out my dimensional number on your own so, tell me, who have you been communicating with?” Rick taps the picture of Winker on his phone. “Tick tock.”

But with that, the man’s foolishness takes control of any instinct to survive and the arrogant expression returns to his face.

“Who else?” Falkor smirks. “The only person who could possibly hate you more than me, Rick.”

Rick narrows his eyes.

“Rick Sanchez.”

Rick hears the familiar click of a gun being cocked just behind his head and he hisses angrily under his breath.

“You _asshole!_” Rick snarls, turning to face his interdimensional counterpart. The same shithead who stood at the end of his bed at the penthouse, the same fool who dared to put his hands on his grandson. Now Rick recognizes the military uniform he wears. It is the same outfit adorned by Falkor. “Y-Y-You know what you’ve done right? You know what this motherfucker is _after?_”

The other Rick’s smile widens knowingly. “I am aware.”

“You realize the entire Citadel of Ricks is gonna want a turn with that ass after this?” Rick shouts. “Seriously bro, do you have any idea how fucked you are?!”

“Rick...” the other Rick says _very_ patiently, edging closer in order to playfully adjust the lapel of Rick’s labcoat. Rick scowls. “The Council is gone, _you_ saw to that already. My instructions came from the president himself.”

Rick snorts with laughter. “_President? _Holy shit! The prisoners found democracy.”

“The Intergalactic Government didn’t _discover_ interdimensional communication, Rick. I _provided _it to them,” the other Rick explains.

“Oh you ass!” Rick groans loudly. “Do y-you have any idea how—how _annoying_ that is?”

“Myself and Officer Skyrocket here have been working together for some time, Rick. And taking you down? Well… I think that’s just a sweet little bonus for an already lofty paycheck, wouldn’t you agree?”

Officer Skyrocket sighs.

“You are a fool, Rick.”

Rick turns just in time to see Officer Skyrocket suddenly pick Morty up by the collar of his shirt and fling the away from him. Morty lands upright only to stumble backwards into a large metal box that Rick hadn’t previously noticed, the door of which swings closed as soon as he lands, locking him in.

It is unmistakably—Rick’s stomach drops at the recognition —a _coffin. _

In the same fluid movement, Officer Skyrocket stands in front of the box and fires his blaster at Rick.

But instead of experiencing the pain of a blaster wound, Rick blinks as he smells his hair being singed and turns to the Rick behind him. He stares open-mouthed as his interdimensional counterpart suddenly collapses.

“You can’t be—” the other Rick coughs loudly, “s-serious!”

“I have no interest, Mr. Sanchez, in partnering with terrorists any longer than necessary,” Officer Skyrocket explains casually. “The part of the plan that involved you, Rick, is now finally complete.”

“Jeez, that’s cold!” Rick murmurs, a little impressed.

“Bastard!” his counterpart yells. “You shot me in the fucking _liver! _Do you have any idea how badly I need that thing?! It’s the hardest working liver in the fucking galaxy, Skyrocket. Now it’s got a hole in it...”

Rick lets out a low whistle and Officer Skyrocket snickers.

“There’ll be a lot more holes in a lot more organs in a moment, Rick.”

“Go ahead and do it motherfucker!” the counterpart cackles. “Kill me! Do it!”

“Yeah, sh-sure, Rick. Whatever you say.” Officer Skyrocket rolls his eyes and the other Rick throws his head back and laughs with soulless laughter.

The other Rick shoots Rick a knowing smile. “You know I-I’ve always got an ace up my sle—”

There is another deafening bang and Rick watches as his counterpart falls to the floor in a bloodied heap.

“Damn...” Rick murmurs.

“Now, Rick of dimension C-137,” Skyrocket says slyly. “You, on the other hand, I have come to admire.”

“You gonna lick my butthole then?”

Officer Skywalker shakes his head and smiles at Rick fondly, giving Rick pause. “No matter how this turns out, Rick. I want you to know that I deeply admire you. You’re not like the other Ricks are you?”

“Sheezus! You’re actually coming onto me, aren’t you?”

“You’re the Rick all the other Ricks fear,” Officer Skyrocket continues, unabashed. “The rogue. A terrorist among terrorists. The Rick they say no other Rick can kill.”

“Kay…”

“And some of them also call you,” Officer Skyrocket’s voice lowers to something softer. “The First.”

“Well,” Rick grins. “You can’t always trust what you hear on the Rickvine, can you officer?”

“You have a choice to make, Rick.” Officer Skyrocket says suddenly, his smile evaporating as he points his blaster at Rick. “You can either hand over your portal gun to me, _or, _I am going to send this coffin here straight into the garbage incinerator beneath us. It’s entirely your choice.”

“_Or..._” Rick replies coldly. “How about I just shoot you and keep both?”

“Because Rick,” Officer Skyrocket explains, “I’m standing in front of the box aren’t I? And if I were to back a little closer...” Officer Skyrocket does so and Rick’s face pales as the man presses his back up against it. “Shooting _me_ will mean you also kill your grandson.”

“You think I care?”

“I know you care.” Officer Skyrocket replies. “You think I haven’t observed the _unnatural_ affection you have for the boy? All Ricks find themselves at least a little attached. But you… you’re the first I’ve seen behave this unpredictably. I practically gift-wrapped him for you when my boys drugged him and left him in that alley for you to find...”

Rick’s blood begins to boil.

“But even I didn’t anticipate you actually _holding back._” Officer Skyrocket laughs. At first I thought that meant that the experiment was an abject failure, but now I see just how important that information really was.”

“_You..._” Rick’s voice is venomous, wrath seeping into his vision and causing his white-knuckled fists to tremble. “You’re the one who drugged him... you left him in the garbage_, _you fucking_ ejaculated on him,_ y-y-you diabolical son-of-a-bitch!”

“Well,” Officer Skyrocket shrugs. “_I _didn’t, but you get the idea. Some of my boys got a little—shall we say—carried away?”

Rick could kill this man. He could fill him with holes and send him into the fiery abyss below. But instead, Rick consciously unclenches his fists and smiles.

“You know what Officer?" he says calmly. "You’ve made a pretty nasty mistake here today.”

Officer Skyrocket sighs. “You’re _trapped_, Rick. There’s no way out unless you sacrifice either your favourite grandchild or your portal gun.”

“Yeah?” Rick’s eyes flash. “Well you know something, motherfucker?” Rick begins striding towards the officer with anger-fueled determination, his arm morphing into the beam-cannon as he walks. “This trap you’ve designed has one pretty huge flaw in it. One giant, gaping flaw that you were too stupid to realize...”

Officer Skyrocket presses himself against the coffin and Rick’s mouth curves into a confident smile.

The officer is behaving just as he'd hoped.

“All that research. All that time you spent figuring me out and yet you never nutted it out...” Rick scoffs, “that if you value your life and the life of your little boyfriend, there is one thing that you never _ever _put in a trap.”

“I know this line, Sanchez. Let me guess...” Officer Skyrocket rolls his eyes. “_You?_”

Rick bares his teeth in a merciless grin.

Officer Skyrocket stills.

“Guess again.”

With a bang that causes the air itself to vibrate, the metal door of the coffin suddenly bends outwards. Officer Skyrocket flinches forward in surprise only for a second, louder, bang to be heard.

Rick smile broadens and, taking advantage of the officer’s compromised attention, shoots the lock off the coffin door.

In a blur of colour, Morty bursts from the box and sinks his nails into the officer’s neck. The man throws a punch, aimed at Morty’s face, only for the boy to dodge expertly and headbutt him in the jaw.

Reeling, Officer Skywalker shoots his blaster, narrowly missing Morty and instead shooting the ceiling and causing an almighty boom as a series of neurons are destroyed in a shower of electrical sparks. Something rumbles deep inside Izroth’s core.

Soldiers come running from nowhere—Rick guesses Falkor must have called for backup while he was still making his way down here—and Rick starts fighting, fending off each one with ease as Morty takes care of Officer Skyrocket. He hears a wet-sounding choking noise behind him and thinks wistfully that he wishes he could watch the kid in action as he quickly snaps the neck of a Gromflamite and throws it at its comrades.

Finally, when the room is littered with dead soldiers, Rick turns to see Morty straddling the prone Officer Skyrocket’s lap, the man’s gun jammed forcefully down his throat.

“Now—” Morty growls. One last Gromflamite staggers to its feet, raising a blaster to point at Morty. Before Rick can react, Morty’s whipped the gun from Skyrocket’s mouth and disintegrated the soldier in an instant before shoving the blaster up into the man’s exposed jugular. “Now,” he begins again, “I have a question and a statement. First, where are you keeping the Smith family?”

Officer Skyrocket lets out a gargling cough and a wad of clotted blood spills from his open mouth. “Beth and Jerry Smith are in the basement’s lower level. Right… r-right above The Entity's core. Buh-but saving them won’t do you any—_ckghh!—_good. We’ve already won.”

“Perfect.”

Morty rises to his feet and begins to leave.

“And—_cogh! ckh!_—a-and the statement?” Officer Skyrocket chokes out at Morty’s back.

Morty turns. He looks down his nose at Officer Skyrocket and regards the man with cold disinterest. He then turns away, the automatic door shutting after him with a decisive snap. He does not check to see if Rick is going to follow him.

Rick looks down at the bleeding, broken, but still living Officer Skyrocket.

“He didn’t kill me,” Skyrocket remarks quietly.

“No,” Rick approaches and crouches down at the officer’s side. “He didn’t.”

“H-He h-had every right to. Ah-after what I did to him.” Officer Skyrocket coughs up another wad of blood and Rick watches curiously as it bubbles from his throat and then dribbles down his chin. “I— I wouldn’t have held it against him if he’d killed me.”

Rick nods. Of course, he understands.

Rick has done far worse to Morty than Officer Skyrocket.

“He’s capable of murder.” Rick explains lightly, “and that’s something you can take to the bank. But, no, he would never have made the choice to kill you, Officer.” Rick explains evenly. The dying officer blinks in surprise at Rick’s sudden lack of stutter. “Because my Morty isn’t like you or me, he isn’t like any of the others, hell,” Rick sighs, gazing fondly at the closed door, “he isn’t like most _people...”_

Rick makes eye-contact with the dying officer once more and observes the confusion in the self-righteous man’s face.

“He’s something you could never understand.”

Rick then grips the man’s nose and mouth and squeezes. The man’s limbs flail desperately, despite his injuries. But Rick easily bats them away.

“You see,” Rick explains softly, “unlike you, my Morty would never pretend to be a hero…”

The spasms dissipate into halfhearted twitches, and finally, Officer Skyrocket lies still and quiet. His wide eyes fixed permanently into an expression of confusion and shock.

Rick rises.

“...because he is one.”

Officer Skyrocket fancied himself a man of perfect rightness, no matter how deplorable his actions, because he was on the side of perceived _goodness, _he could never do anything objectively evil. Rick, being wiser, knew otherwise.

Kidnapping Morty, drugging him, hurting him, defiling him… these were things Rick could never forgive.

  
  


But Morty could.

  
  


Morty could, has, and always _will. _Because where Rick’s experiences left him morally bereft and emotionally chaotic, Morty is still in control. Even under the thrall of his own fear, Morty is still autonomously himself, and therefore capable of the ultimate choice.

And Morty chose to spare a man’s life.

The same way he chose to forgive Rick.

It was not because he was incapable of anything else. And certainly not because Officer Skyrocket’s death was undeserved. But because Morty _chose_ not to be a killer.

Rick smiles proudly to himself as he walks through the automatic doors and steps into the elevator to take him down into the lower basement.

Morty is the ultimate human being: nothing to the universe and everything to his enemies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morty really doesn't like being trapped in small spaces.


	14. The Flames Below

_So farewell to distant thunder_  
_Those inept stars I've worshipped under_  
_Fall farther, their Father_  
_Lies in wait in flames below_

—Cradle of Filth, "Suicide and Other Comforts"

* * *

The elevator is full of blood, comparable only to that scene in The Shining. Morty has clearly been busy. It opens on the upper basement and Rick follows the trail of destruction. Gromflamites of all shapes, sizes, and uniforms have been thrown aside, very few of them surviving as Morty continued his warpath down into the lowest level of the facility. The trail stops at a heavy set of double doors concealing a metal staircase descending down into the darkness. Rick reels as he pushes open the doors, a smothering layer of heat envelops him and taints the air with radiating fumes. If he thought it was hot before, it is nothing compared to this.

Rick darts down the stairs, nearing what can only be described as Hell's boiler room. With every step, the heat rises. Choking him and draining him.

Rick wipes the sweat from his eyes as he reaches the final step and there’s Morty. He's kneeling on the steel grated floor which suspends the boiler room over Izroth's fiery core. Before him lie two open metal coffins identical to the one he was just trapped in.

“Rick!” Morty cries out, his face flushed.

In that moment, Morty is unrecognizable as the one who took down the acclaimed Officer Skyrocket, he doesn’t even look _capable_ of fighting. He looks like a tiny innocent child in the middle of a situation too horrible to handle. Rick tries to stifle a fond smile.

“There’s only my Mom and Dad here, Rick. I...I don’t know where Summer is. And I can’t get them out of these things,” Morty explains, “they’ve got needles in my parents’ skin. I don’t know what it’s doing to them.”

Rick squats down to inspect Beth and immediately recognizes the stuff. “It’s Globaflyn,” he explains, recognizing the dark red liquid, “it basically connects the whatever-you-want section of your brain to the whatever-you-have section. It means they’re going to keep thinking they’re safe here until someone, y’know, _wants_ them for something.”

“Jeez…” Morty breathes.

Rick places a reassuring hand on Morty’s shoulder. The room is growing hotter by the minute and Rick suspects that the damage he's done above means Izroth’s head could blow any moment. But he is still reluctant to rush this part of the journey.

“D-don’t worry, Morty, once the needles are out they’ll be normal again. But, fair warning Morty, it’s probably also acting as a pain killer. We gotta be careful taking—”

“C-137.”

A familiar smug voice interrupts him and Rick and Morty both turn to find their only exit blocked by a freakishly familiar face, though significantly more bruised and grey than before.

“Sheezus you’re still alive?” Rick breathes as he looks up at his far-worse-for-wear interdimensional counterpart. “H-How is that even possible?”

“Willp-power, Rick,” the other Rick slurs out a low growl as he staggers into the room, lifting his arm and aiming a blaster.

Instead of handling Beth and Jerry delicately as he originally intended, Rick slams the coffin doors shut.

“Run Morty!” he shouts, reaching into his lab coat for his portal gun, ready to send the kid and his parents through it in an instant.

Instead Rick freezes.

His hand trembles in front of him, pathetically gripping a browning banana.

Slowly, with horror clenching around his wildly beating heart, Rick turns to look at the other Rick who is smiling at him knowingly.

“Going somewhere?”

“You...” Rick hisses. The disgusting_ weasel _must have pick-pocketed Rick when he was pawing at his lab coat. Rick makes a move towards his colleague whose smile broadens excitedly as he pulls out Rick’s own portal gun.

“Uh-_uh!_” he grins. “Y-You want the portal gun back, Rick? You’re going to have to give me something _I _want.”

“Wh-what the… what the fuck could you possibly want that I wasn’t willing to give to Officer Scrotyballs up there?” Rick shouts.

“You.”

Rick blinks.

“I want _y__ou_, Patient Zero.”

Rick scowls at the insulting nickname. 

“What…? Y-y-you wanna team up? You think a gesture like _this_ is gonna make me an—an—an ally? Fuck me, I’ve met _Jerries _with better plans than this!”

“You’re going to follow me back to the Citadel or you can die stranded here in The Head of Izroth, counting down the seconds until The Entity finally blows, disintegrating everything within twelve parsecs.”

“Fine by me! I’d rather be dead than on that prison!”

“But are you fine with your _Morty_ enduring the same fate?”

Rick’s eyes narrow.

He doesn’t answer. It’s not even a fucking question.

Rick straightens up, face pinched in defeat as he begins to walk towards the other Rick. But before he can reach him, air whooshes past Rick's ears, his stomach is in his throat before he lands chin-first on the steel grating.

Morty—the little _fuck_—has gone and tripped him.

“Morty you _idiot!_”

“Rick!” Morty cries. “I don’t care what you— w-what happens to me but I am _not_ letting you go with him!”

The other Rick laughs.

The temperature rises and a loud rumble can be heard deep inside the core. The walls shake and the metal floor rattles violently.

“For fuck’s sake! W-we don’t have _time_ for this, Morty!” Rick roars over the din.

“Yeah? W-well—” Morty begins.

“Fuck it, he’s right.” The other Rick interrupts. He opens his lab coat and a series of miniature drones—barely larger than wasps—whizz out and circle around Morty’s arms and legs, holding him up as though crucified. He aims his gun at Morty’s chest.

Rick whirls around hopelessly.

“Don’t!”

“Your choice, _Rick. _Your portal gun or your Morty. No Rick has ever chosen wrong.”

Rick’s eyes dart back and forth from Morty to the Rick.

Rick recognized the tiny drones straight away. He stopped using them back in his forties because they became so unnecessary. For a man who can kill with a mere_ thought,_ using tiny flying robots to wind fine wire around their victim in order to pull it tight with a flick of his wrist seemed like ghoulish overkill.

Having such vile things wrapped around Morty makes Rick’s blood boil. The boy hangs in a perfect T above the fiery furnace, ready to be ripped apart in an instant. His expression open with unbridled fear.

Rick’s insides turn. He will save him. He must.

Morty doesn’t deserve to die crucified and ready to burn...

Another great boom—much louder this time—sends ripples of sound across the walls and floor. _Fuck! _Rick is running out of time. They now have _seconds _before all three of them are doomed to holy fire.

...But in order to save Morty, Rick needs his portal gun. There’s no concluding otherwise. With it, he can—

Rick makes a near-imperceptible move towards the other Rick. But it is enough. Morty’s face changes from fearful to devastated in an instant and Rick hears a bark of triumphant laughter before sound roars to life all around him yet another blast erupts below.

Rick doesn't react. He sprints towards the other Rick. Seizing the monster’s wrist and goose-necking it, simultaneously destroying his counterpart's built-in drone remote and allowing the portal-gun to drop into his open palm before firing it beneath the two coffins.

With Beth and Jerry taken care of, Rick fires the portal gun just beneath Morty.

The other Rick doesn’t stop laughing, he fires his blaster just as Rick throws himself at his grandson. He tackles Morty through the portal, plunging both of them to safety just as they hear the final explosion followed by the catastrophic scream of the great Izroth finally meeting His end.

* * *

With Morty clutched tightly against his chest, Rick flops over onto his back. They’ve arrived in the only place Rick could think of that the SUM and the Citadel of Ricks wouldn’t know about: the cross-temporal asteroid that houses Rick’s makeshift operating theatre.

Like falling into a cool bath, Rick pants heavily as he calms himself, enjoying the crisp clinical air. A welcome change to the putrid stench of a decaying eldritch deity.

As the sweat cools on Rick’s brow, he feels a relieved grin stretching across his face and lets out a loud bark of breathless undefeated laughter before flipping off the ceiling.

“That’s fucking _right!_” Rick yells, still panting from the adrenaline rush. “Not today motherfucker!” Beaming, Rick looks down at Morty. “Stick your middle finger to the sky, Morty! We fucking made it!”

Morty doesn’t move. A heartbeat passes with silence.

“M-Morty?”

Rick gives him a gentle shake. Perhaps it had all been too much for the kid.

“Morty…? C-c’mon, don’t be—” Rick reaches down to grab Morty’s hand and immediately stops short.

_No._

The glee that had filled Rick’s bones vanishes in an instant, leaving something cold and raw in its wake. 

There’s no hand.

There’s no _arm._

As Rick’s eyes quickly adjust to the darkness he suddenly realizes his own entire lower half is drenched in blood. Morty is too small, too light.

  
  


Rick was too late.

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter Two should be coming next week!


End file.
